This and Here
by emote rellish
Summary: At twenty-seven, Draco still thinks it's okay to make poop jokes. And Hermione still can't get over that. "He should’ve known it was made-up. Not just the Iwannaleia Nunnery of Hawaii. All of it. Everything from the nunnery to the European brothels."
1. The Proposal

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the book series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.

(This was originally the sequel to **To Keep It Simple**, but all that you really need to know is that Hermione and Draco had a _thing_ at Hogwarts, but after a highly complex chain of events, it was revealed that Pansy had gone apeshit and wanted Hermione lolDEAD. Aside from referencing that, **This and Here** has nothing to do with **To Keep It Simple**. DO NOT READ **To Keep It Simple**. I wrote it 6 years ago. It is stylistically mortifying.)

**This and Here**

**Chapter one**

The Proposal

* * *

Some would describe Draco as--slender. Others would describe him as--lanky. But how would Draco describe himself? Well, Draco liked to describe himself as--_sex_. Lean muscle, sculpted chest, chiseled... er... _defined _abdomen. Yes, he'd suffered years of grueling work outs and training sessions with overzealous fitness gurus to get here, and no, he didn't care if he wasn't being modest about it. Self-centered? Of course. He was a _Malfoy_.

Approximately nine years after leaving Hogwarts, Draco found himself comparing his biceps in the floor length mirror at the foot of his bed. Yes, _his _bed in _his _bedroom in _his _bachelor pad of love. Perhaps the love part was pushing it because no member of the opposite sex had laid foot in his room since he'd first purchased it a few years back. Other then his mother and the cleaning services.

It wasn't that he hadn't the charm or the finesse or the good looks to bed a woman (he was a _Malfoy _for fuck's sake). He simply didn't have the time... or the commitment. What he _did _have was a reputation for being a manslut... or a cold hearted bastard-- depending on which of his latest conquests you asked. He'd had his fair share of women-- a date here, a fuck there—but Draco considered himself a workaholic, and his bedroom was his temple. He'd only ever imagined sharing his bed with two women. One was Anya Ivanov, voted most beautiful Witch by Wizard Weekly back in 2003. The other-- well, the other was perhaps even more elusive than Anya. But it didn't even matter any ways because Draco was _very _career-oriented. He prided himself in being the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the ripe age of 27.

Ahh, but no establishment as respected as the Ministry only produces just _one_ prodigal business professional. Of course, there was _another _up and coming business leader heading the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Who else other then Hermione Granger? Never had a witch caused so much conflict in the history of the Ministry of Magic—and that was including that oh-so-popular Umbridge woman.

With each time he saw her face on the front page of the Daily Prophet instead of his own-- well, the faster and faster he could see his window of opportunity closing until barely enough light was streaming in to give him hope. Becoming the Minister had been his goal since his first day at work... not quite since the first day, but Gods, if Hermione Granger could do it, then so could he.

Hermione Granger, Merlin, the number she did on him back at Hogwarts...

* * *

_Draco Malfoy had stumbled into Hermione's train compartment with only one thing on his mind._

"_Why?" he asked, dropping into the seat across from her. He let his head fall against the wall of the compartment, tried to hide his fidgeting hands in his pockets. Through the wall, he could hear the whistling of the train as it drifted through the tunnel. __She hadnt even looked at him when he walked in. Merlin, she was impossible to understand. _

"_Draco, I think the question is.. Why not?" she finally replied. Ugh... she must have been expecting him. That would explain how calm she was. Normally at a time like this, she'd be twitching like crazy, playing with her hair, tugging at the loose threads of her sweatshirt. He felt a tug in his stomach, clenching his throat shut. He tried to control his frustration. _

"_What are you talking about? Hermione-- all I know is that I didn't risk everything for some stupid fling!" he hissed. Ahh--the older, more malicious Draco Malfoy was pushing himself into the conversation. What he said must have stung because she jerked her head away from the window to glare at him.  
_

_"Don't even **try** to __pretend that you were the only one risking everything!" she cried out "You and I both know that the reason we got into so much trouble was because Pansy was fucking batshit crazy and wanted to kill me!"_

_Well, geez, when she put it that way... _

_ "And just so you know, I didn't give up everything for a fling either, but I don't have much of a choice considering the options!" Hermione frantically said. _

"_Options? What options?" he countered, "I only see one option. We keep seeing each other."_

_She groaned and shook her head. _

_"No, not __**our **options. **My** options, Draco," she sighed._

_He hadn't even realized his hands had been tearing apart the insides of his pockets until now. Until the exact moment that she'd blatantly told him off. So this was what it was about then. Her. God, he had been so stupid, thinking that Hermione would be willing to keep giving up a part of herself to this. She was so concerned about her own self-preservation that she had completely given up on him. _

"_What do you want, Hermione? What does any other wizard have that I don't?" he finally retaliated, not sure what else to say.  
_

"_That's just it! It's what they don't have that you do! You're so cocky, you know that? You just assume that people will bend to your whim to fit your little life plan. But I won't Draco!" she shot back. She turned away from him, folding her arms across her chest. _

_Fine. It wasn't as though there weren't loads of other girls to pick from at Hogwarts. If this was what she wanted, then so be it. He'd had enough of putting himself on the line for her, and whatever, it wasn't like this was real love or anything. Pulling his head away from the compartment wall, he smoothed out the wrinkles in his sleeves and pants and cleared his throat._

_"__All right," he said coolly. _

_"What?" she replied, confused.  
_

_Yeah, she head right. He was done helping her figure out her problems. He wasn't her fucking therapist. __Lifting himself from his seat, he stepped towards her across the aisle, and bent down until his lips were right by her ear.  
_

"_Have a good holiday," he sneered, "Give Pothead and Weasel my regards."_

_She pushed him away just as Harry and Ron burst into the compartment, Chocolate Frogs leaping from their arms. Ron immediately dropped his freshly purchased candies and pulled his wand from his back pocket._

_"Don't bother, Weasley," he hissed, "I was just leaving."_

_And without turning to look at Hermione, he left the compartment._

* * *

Gods, within that five minute meeting on the train, he'd somehow broken his own heart under the assumption that he was breaking hers.

Why was he even thinking about this? It was the past, and he was entirely done with it. Done with it. Who the fuck was Hermione Granger?

Ugh. Who the fuck _wasn't _Hermione Granger...

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He didn't have time for this.

He checked his reflection, adjusted the tie, tugged on the freshly ironed collar and swept a hand through his hair. He never would have imagined actually enjoying wearing Muggle clothing, but after reports began coming in of Wizards and Witches winding up in asylums in the Muggle world for masquerading as "magical beings" in their tacky velvet robes and hats, the Ministry reformed the uniform requirement. Every so often on casual Fridays though, he'd see a rare crushed velvet robe here and there.

He collected his things into his briefcase; his wand, paperwork from the project he'd been working on last night, his quill and a various assortment of other magical knick-knacks, then grabbed his coat from the hanger and swung his front door open.

Oh Merlin, what was _she _doing here?

"Mother?" he exclaimed.

xXx

* * *

Hermione had had enough of these motherfucking papers on her motherfucking desk.

Every thirty minutes, she would have to wave her wand, clear up the mess, then make another one. Technically, it wasn't so much her mess as it was the mess of her staff. God, they needed their hand held through every brainless task. She shook her head and scolded herself for being so critical. It really wasn't their fault that she was so much more competent. Ugh, there she went again.

Her pessimism didn't come without a reason. She'd had to claw her way into the Ministry and smash through glass ceilings while still exuding some sort of charisma and solicitude as an advocate for the advancement of magical relations. Scratch that-- THE advocate for the advancement of magical relations. As the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, she was constantly having to prove her competence to her superiors. Well, soon enough, she'd be able to stop kissing ass all the time. Sure, she was the most controversial candidate running for the position of the Minister of Magic, but she frankly didn't really give a flying shit. She had projects she wanted to get done, policies she wanted to change. The Ministry hadn't made her very happy these past nine years, but so help her, it would make her very very successful.

Really, only one obstacle stood between her and the Minister position. Her biggest opponent, Draco. She'd only had nice things to say about his campaign to the media, but about him? She'd always refrained from commenting.

The last time they'd been in a similar situation, vying for the same position, had been at Hogwarts. During their 7th and final year, Hermione had passed with the highest marks in each class. She'd received enough N.E.W.T.S to be able to pursue any career possible, McGonagall had said. Well, McGonagall had told that to one other person, and of course, that person was Draco. Since then, their paths had barely strayed from each other. They'd both started working at the Ministry the same year, both were promoted to Head of their respective departments the same year (Granted, Draco was promoted first... but Hermione had known about her promotion earlier), both announced their intentions to run for the position of the Minister of Magic--well, technically, that last one was unavoidable.

So because of all these convergences in their paths, Draco had never really _left_ Hermione's head since Hogwarts. Or so was the excuse she gave herself. She would occasionally see him in passing, have to share a lift with him or walk past him in the atrium, but in the nine years since Hogwarts, she'd never actually spoken to him. Perhaps it was for the best because they hadn't exactly settled their relationship on the best of terms back at Hogwarts. In her defense, she just hadn't been able to handle his cockiness anymore, his need to control every little thing in his life. And even though she'd initiated the break-up, he very easily could have talked her out of it instead of flouncing out of the cart with a 'Have a good holiday', like some stupid line from a Louisa May Alcott novel. Their last year at Hogwarts had been spent in complete ignorance of each other. Sometimes she would see him snogging his new girlfriend, but it was a different girl every month, so it had never bothered her. Bah! Not like it would've bothered her if he'd gone off and gotten married.

She waved her wand and separated the papers on her desk into four separate piles. Now wasn't the time for dwelling on the past. Now was the time to get rid of these fucking papers. She snatched one off the top of one pile, only to have it immediately replaced by a paper from another pile. Oh, fuck it all!

She threw up her arms in surrender and pushed her chair away from her desk. Right now she needed coffee, and she needed it badly.

xXx

* * *

Draco gagged as his mother floated into his flat. What was this part Veela, part blood-sucking-life-draining-monster doing, touching his things and breathing all over his furniture? He hadn't partaken in any family events ever since leaving the Malfoy Mansion in Wiltshire nine years ago for London. Narcissa glanced at the clothes strewn over the leather armchair and couch and sniffed, turning her nose up. Fascinating. The first thing his mother did after what seemed like ages of separation—patronize his flat.

"Draco, dear, you really should consider cleaning this mess up," she said coolly. He shrugged, then blatantly turned to look at the clock above his kitchen sink, even going so far as to count the numbers loud enough so that his mother could hear.

"Mother, now really isn't a good time to have a friendly chat about Malfoy ethics—" he groaned when he sensed that his mother didn't plan on leaving.

"I'm not here to talk about that," she sharply bit out, clucking her tongue as her eyes roamed across the room again. Geez, now that she wouldn't stop doing it, he couldn't help taking a good look around himself. Good god, what did he pay cleaning services to swing by twice a week for? To get all chummy with his dust bunnies? His flat always managed to look like shit within an hour of them leaving.

"Have you been reading the Daily Prophet lately?" Narcissa asked, raising a brow.

Of course he read the Daily Prophet. Draco could clearly recall yesterday's front page—God awful mud slinging between former Death Eaters and the Ministry of Magic. Oh those little cutie-patootie Death Eaters, back to their old bigoted ways, arguing bloodlines at a time like this. Hermione had sparked controversy within the former Death Eater community after successfully beating a pureblood candidate for the position as the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation a few years back. For the most part, the Ministry refused to acknowledge the argument because one: they had a very bad history with Death Eaters, storming in all the time and fucking their shit up, and two: Death Eaters weren't exactly the most likable people in the Wizarding community. Of course, they weren't referred to as being former Death Eaters, but God, people could take a hint. Pureblood this, Mudblood that, Voldemort rules! So on and so forth.

Draco's personal opinion? He thought the argument was complete bullocks. He'd given up the entire Death-Eater lineage after deserting the Wiltshire Mansion all those years ago. But judging from the fact that the last time he'd seen his mother had been after his father had gotten arrested... well, it didn't take a genius to figure out why she was back.

"Your father and I--"

"Mother, if you're here to try to coerce me into being a part of some stupid plot to slay mudbloods everywhere, forget it. The door's behind you, you know your way out," he said, drumming his fingers impatiently on the kitchen counter.

She clucked her tongue. Nope, she probably hadn't heard a single word of what he'd just said.

"I know it's been a while since we spoke-- but your father and I believe we know a way to help you bounce ahead in the polls again," she explained. She almost sat down on one of his barstools, but thought better of it and skirted away towards one of the few areas of the room where clothes weren't strewn about the floor.

Wait-- was his mother actually offering to help him? And not in that reverse psychology sort of way.

"With all this controversy raging between... well, old family friends and the Ministry over the bloodlines of potential Ministry candidates, we would prefer if the Malfoy name did not get affiliated with this... mess."

So it _was_ just about his father. Whew, for a second he thought his parents had genuinely started caring for him. Merlin, that would have been so_ icky_.

"We considered our options, and decided that the best alternative would be for you to invest some time in forming a solid relationship with a mud-- with someone of... mixed blood..."

Oh god, and now Draco was just going to stop listening. Was this how they spent his father's visiting hours? Plotting how to use their estranged son in their plot to get Lucius out on parole? Bah... he hated to admit it, but the plot wasn't even that ludicrous. The media would do wonders with a picture of Draco, heir to the pureblood Malfoy name, canoodling with a mixed-blood Brazilian model, especially with the frenzy they were having with the Death Eaters. The public would love it-- their next Minister of Magic, doing away with the greatest age-old rivalry in magic history to bolster the modernization of the Wizarding world. And it wasn't as though he wouldn't mind it, either. But--he really didn't have the time for this.

"Mother, firstly, you spell like liquor. Secondly, I would never even fathom wasting my time doing something as _ridiculous_ as that. Now, you've already made me fifteen minutes late, I'd like to get to work, so you need to leave," Draco urged.

Narcissa sighed and reached into her small crocodile-skin handbag, pulling out the corner of a lace handkerchief. Her eyes were now one thousand times larger than their original alien-squinty-bug-eyed size and her bottom lip was jutted out and quaking like a leaf. Good god his mother had no shame. Draco groaned and threw up his arms in surrender.

"For heaven's sake," he muttered, nursing his forehead in his palm, "I'll do it, I'll do it—but only because I don't want the rest of your face to melt off."

She scoffed and neatly placed the white square of fabric into her purse. Her eyes were all narrow and squinty again.

"Consider it your reinitiation," she said without a hint of emotion.

Draco sneered and opened the door for his mother.

"Oh whoopee, now we can _all_ sit around the dinner table and eat in silence like we used to," he mumbled sarcastically.

There was no way in hell he was going to slut himself out for his parents.

xXx

* * *

Number one Witch!

Or so it _used _to read on the side of her coffee mug before Ron, in all his drunken debauchery, crossed out the 'w' with sharpie marker and replaced it with a 'b' to demonstrate how adept he was with muggle tools.

What ever. The rest of her cups still had coffee residue in them and she just hadn't had the time to clean them out. And plus, if she covered the mug _just_ so, the mug only read "Number one", and she was completely fine with that.

When she got to the lounge, nobody was there. Just a steaming pot of freshly brewed coffee waiting to be drank. She could feel the saliva forming at the edge of her mouth.

She poured the dark brown liquid into her mug and watched as the spiral of smoke floated from the surface. Coffee was so... sooo _sexy. _If she had a choice of how to die—it would either involve drowning in coffee or drinking too much of it. As she opened up a cup of cream, someone else walked into the lounge, nearly bumping the cup out of her hand as they jostled past.

"Morning, Granger," the stranger said as they poured themselves a cup of coffee.

Hermione nodded in reply, keeping her head down as she stirred her beverage.

"Morning—"

And oh good lord, her world was crumbling around her.

His hair--his hair was so blonde and straight and perfectly kept and oh god those eyes, those blue eyes with the gray flecks-- ugh, and his nose, the aquiline nose that went perfectly with that angular jaw and... and... AND that smirk, that little vindictive smirk. How could she ever forget that sadistic little smirk? UGH! Why was she ogling him? She turned away immediately as a million thoughts raced through her mind. She'd always known they'd have to meet sooner or later... but like this? She'd hoped to see him at a conference, or some sort of debate, where she could have at least had the pleasure of poking fun at his politics. Instead, she was meeting him for the first time since Hogwarts in a lounge, stirring her coffee like a madwoman with a mug that read "Number one Bitch". If this wasn't irony, she didn't know what was.

And now she'd probably turned this comfortable hesitation into an awkward hesitation. Oh god, she needed to spit something out before he got suspicious--

"—Malfoy," she finally blurted out.

She was _not _ready to talk to him again.

xXx

* * *

Draco hadn't planned it at all. He'd gone in for a cup of coffee. And there she was, standing there in a tight pencil skirt and a sleeveless white poofy blouse that did all sorts of magical things to her boobs. Oh and pumps. Those menacing pumps.

Initially, he'd walked right past the lounge, realizing he'd stopped breathing at the sight of her. He didn't want her first memory of him in nine years to be him stumbling into the room with his cheeks cherry red, reeling for air. On his second trip around, he resolved that yes, indeed, he would go talk to her. It was the least he could do, seeing as they'd have to meet at a conference sooner or later, and he'd be doing them both a favor by just getting it out of the way. And oh god, he just wanted to talk to her again.

"Morning, Granger," he managed to wrangle out as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He tried to turn his body as far way from hers as possible so that she wouldn't see the brutal concentration it required to keep his hand from shaking the coffee all over the counter.

"Morning—"

He heard the pause, he sensed her roving stare, he suddenly felt very, very nervous. What if she didn't want anything to do with him? It wasn't exactly like she'd made the effort to contact him during all these years. She was probably glaring holes into the side of his head. Probably figuring out ways to slap a harassment suit on him.

"Malfoy," she finally said.

Ahh, no wild accusations or tantrums. He took that as a good thing. He began stirring his coffee, pondering how to start the conversation. The last time they'd spoke had been on the train back to London, and that had ended horribly. Well, on the bright side, the only direction to go after a discussion as godawful as that was... up!

What sorts of things should he even ask her? Was he allowed to ask about her private life or was that taboo? And was that taboo because they were both vying for the same job, or because they'd had sex that one crazy time and then they'd broken up on the train of all shitty places? If only he'd had a normal upbringing, maybe he would know what to talk about in situations like these. God, instead of playing tag or hide and seek like normal children, Draco had spent most of his childhood making his house elves do stupid things to entertain him, like translating the French anthem into German, or counting the number of fisheries on the East coast of Africa. To recap-- Draco's childhood had been the shittiest childhood ever. Thinking about it made him want to call up his mother just to make farty noises into the phone and blame it on the Crabbes.

His mother! How could he have forgotten what his mother had told him? Of course, he'd never actually planned on doing it, but it did give him inspiration. It'd look bloody brilliant if he and Hermione were suddenly chummy-chummy. Maybe it'd up his cool factor with those hippies who were all into Hermione's fight to grant House Elves and gorillas human rights and to loosen the restrictions on certain magical charms. Well, that was stretching it a bit-- but him and Hermione together? That would be front page material. And even though he told himself he hated his parents with every fiber of his being, he sort of _had_ to love them. Or his mother at least, for pushing him out of her womb. Maybe this would help his father get parole.

In the end, though, these were all just excuses for Draco. He needed a reason, any reason, to talk to her again, even if it didn't really make sense to him why he had to.

"So, still single?"

And though the way he chose to engage her in conversation was perhaps the stupidest way he could've chosen to, and though the gorillas Hermione was fighting for could probably have done fifty times better coming up with a discussion topic, what mattered was that he'd made the effort.

* * *

Author's Note: 5.31.08

I've just finished rewriting this entire flipping story. There were a lot of stupid things I fixed, like Hermione and Draco running for Minister at 23? Wtf, 23 is still fetus-age. I don't even know if people _run _for the Minister position, but whatever. I also changed like... the words. And the plot-thing. And... everything else. Hopefully this reads way more impressively than before. If not, well, then consider this: I'm now partially blind from staring at my computer screen for so long, so I hope you reap the bounty of my pain. And if this is your first time reading this-- it's... really good. So keep reading.


	2. Bay Gull

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the book series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.

**This and Here**

**Chapter Two**

Bay-Gull

* * *

Hermione had never been one to lose her head over something as trivial as sex. She'd had her fair share of relationships since Hogwarts; the most serious being her two year near-engagement to Ron Weasley (as though no one had seen that coming) and her least serious being her week long fling with the Italian Stallion Alessandro while in Padua for an International Magic Relations seminar. In both cases, she'd never allowed herself to lose her head. Actually, she had never really been _compelled _to lose her head.

But now, she was scrambling for any excuse to turn away from Draco. She ducked her head to blow the steam off the top of her coffee, feeling so awkwardly _nervous_ with him looming over her in his nicely tailored pants and nicely tailored shirt with the sleeves all rolled up and boyish looking. He could be a complete ass, but god he looked good doing it.

UGH. Why was she even thinking about him like that? For nine years, she'd refrained from talking to him at meetings or in lifts or in passing simply because she'd been fickle enough to think she could ignore him forever. And now she was reaching all around him to get the shit together for her coffee and he was just standing there, not moving, lips pulled back in that stupid smirk of his just _tempting _her to have a conversation with him.

And now those lips were moving, but she was still on another wavelength, calculating the ways she could slip out of the lounge and out of this conversation and frankly, out of his life with the least amount of friction possible-- and by the time she realized he was talking _to _her, not _at _her, all she caught was--

"—gle?"

A "gull" sound? Hermione immediately feigned interest, pursing her lips and knitting her brow in contemplation. She could play this off. She _had _to play this off. This was her single opportunity to make the rare second first impression, and so help her, she wasn't going to let him think she was an idiot. Plus, it didn't take much brain power to outwit Draco.

What could possibly end in a "gull" sound that Draco Malfoy would want to ask her? She watched him from the corner of her eye as he dipped a plastic knife into a tub of cream cheese. Maybe he'd been offering her something. Her eyes darted around the counter. Cream? No. Sugar? No... Napkin? No. Doughnut? No.

Bagel? Bay-gull? Well, damn it, if she wasn't fucking Sherlock Holmes. A whole basket of colored, fizzing, decorated bagels was sitting directly in front of Draco on the counter. Hermione grabbed a butter knife and a small cup of cream cheese from the jars next to her, then smiled as politely as she could.

"Sure."

xXx

* * *

"Sure"? What the hell kind of response was sure? Or was that supposed to be one of those sassy fem-bot reactions to prove how happy she was being single? He knew for a fact her longest relationship had been with Ron Weasley (but she'd apparently called off their engagement prior to her announcement to run for the Minister position as the campaigning coincided perfectly with the Quidditch World Cup), and that at one point, which he assumed to be the more experimental time of her life, she'd been rumored to have been engaged in some sort of inter-species relationship with Alessandro "the stallion"--perhaps slang for "centaur".

The point was-- her answer _should_ have been "yes". Not "sure".

How exactly did Draco know this much about Hermione's personal life? Well, as his primary opponent, it was necessary he know absolutely _everything_ about her. Of course, he didn't know _everything_ (really just the snippets he "quickly" "scanned" through in gossip magazines), and he would never reveal any of the things he did know to the public any ways-- that would be shamefully shallow of him. But it _did _give him peace of mind at night. From a purely professional and strictly business sort of stance, of course.

He'd really just asked her to hear it straight from her mouth that she was single, but as usual, she'd found some nutty way to fuck things up. Draco didn't quite have anything ready in his arsenal of witty comebacks to counter a response like "sure". And now Hermione was looking at him—as if she was _expecting _something. Oh god, maybe this wasn't as awful as he thought it was. Did she already know what was on his mind? Did she _want_ him to ask her to dinner?

"What are yo--" he bit his tongue as another employee of the Ministry wandered in to pour himself a cup of coffee. Hermione and Draco both nodded their hellos and scooted down along the counter to give him some space.

Well, damnit, this made things a little more difficult... but luckily he'd encountered situations like this before, all the time in his department, especially during their interrogations of uncooperative magical creatures and what not. The only down-side was that Hermione probably wouldn't understand his department's very complex patterns of sign language and facial movements. She would most likely confuse it for some sort of stroke and have him rushed to St. Mungo's. He'd just have to come up with another way to tell her what he wanted to say, but without really saying it, and to get her to say what he wanted her to say, but without really saying it.

Or else that fat man with the hair in his ears might hear what Draco _actually _wanted to tell Hermione and babble to the rest of the Ministry.

Her arm shot out in front of him and snatched a bagel from the basket. When he turned to look at her, she narrowed her eyes, then turned away. What the-- what was going on? Was she narrowing her eyes in anger... or seduction? Well, whatever it had been, he was about to use his awesome skills of interrogation to blow her mind.

"Do you like your cream cheese—hot?" he asked, trying _so _hard not to let his body cripple over from laughter. Hermione's brow knotted. Apparently, she didn't find this as funny as he did.

"Uh.. no. I like my cream cheese plain," she replied. Interesting response. Interesting and fitting.

"Plain? That's it?" he pressed, "So... how do you prefer it on your _bagel_?"

Her confusion persisted.

"Wha... well I guess I prefer it on the side?" she replied, but when he didn't say anything, she continued, "Instead of... you know... smothered all over it. I'm a hands on type of person—so I like to be able to control where the cream cheese goes."

Oh god, he needed to get some air. Immediately. This was turning into a fucking _riot_, and it was just beginning to dawn on him that she very well still might not know what he was doing. Chances were, with the face she was making and the glare she was sending his way, she probably didn't think this was as brilliant a plan as he did. Well, he'd have to amend that.

"Would you like to try some of my cream cheese—six, Saturday evening?" he concluded as the hairy ear man left the lounge.

"I--I suppose so?" she replied. But then he saw the realization began to dawn on her and as he watched the look on her face transform from confusion to anger, he snatched his things together and headed for the door. Merlin, she really _hadn't _known what he was doing after all. What ever, he had her word now! Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, after a grueling nine year separation, would finally be thrown back into each other's lives through a perverted-coffee-lounge-conversation twist of fate.

"See you then!" he managed to choke out, laughter threatening to bubble out as he bolted down the hall and back to his office, too excited-- and a little too scared-- to wait for Hermione's reaction.

xXx

* * *

Hermione was struck speechless. What ever crazy shit Draco was pulling, she told herself she wouldn't fall for it. What was all this nonsense about cream cheese and bagels anyways? He hadn't even given her the bagel he'd offered her for Merlin's sake, and now he was babbling on and on about how she preferred it. How the fuck else did you put cream cheese on a bagel?

Just as Barry, the head of the Department of Magical Transportation, left the lounge with his coffee in hand, Draco pounced.

"Would you like to try some of my cream cheese—six, Saturday evening?" he asked, as though it were absolutely _normal_ for that type of thing to happen on a Saturday night. She was mind-blowingly confused. From bagels, to _this_. Perhaps she'd been more out of touch with her staff then she'd realized. Did he throw some sort of wine and cream cheese tasting party at his flat on the weekends? Was this like the new Fondue party? He'd said it so _normally_ that she just couldn't see how it _wasn't_ normal.

"I--I suppose so?" she replied, not wanting to look stupid asking him what the hell a cream-cheese tasting party was.

She couldn't keep herself from wondering though... Exactly what was Draco playing at? If he'd been trying to belittle her—he certainly had another thing coming. And cream cheese. Did he have some fucked up cream cheese fetish? And asking her to taste his cream later—

Her jaw dropped as realization hit her.

That little fucking nasty crabs-ridden whore! Bagels? Bagels! It had nothing to do with bagels! It was all about sex! How could she not have seen that—he was asking about hot_ cream cheese_, for fuck's sake. He must have thought that entire conversation was one giant sexual innuendo. So typical. She'd been completely stupid to think that a whole nine years was enough time for Draco Malfoy to realize poop and sex jokes weren't funny anymore. Hermione wanted to throw her coffee mug at him and wring his neck for being so disgusting, but by the time she'd armed herself with as many plastic butter knives as could fit in one hand, he'd already fled.

She snatched her coffee mug from the counter, sloshing the coffee all over her hand, and rushed back to her office. So help her, there was no way in hell she was showing up at his flat Saturday night. And there was certainly no way in hell she would let him get away with thinking he'd outwitted her.

xXx

* * *

Draco had hardly gotten settled back into his office, his cheeks still rosy from the full-on sprint he'd made back from the lounge, when a lavender-colored airplane floated in through the door and glided onto his desk. Ah. One guess who this was from. He unfolded it and read:

_Malfoy- Nine years later and you still cease to amaze me. Unfortunately, I will be unable to sample cream on Saturday evening, as I have many more other important things to attend to. I have heard from many fellow co-workers that the cream is a dime a dozen, and that I can find much better quality cream at possibly any store any where at any given time. Seeing as that one of my co-workers reported a strong allergic reaction to the cream and as we have fairly similar tastes, I will probably **never **__need to sample the cream. As I will be fairly busy, I would not prefer a response.  
_

The letter was so stupidly cordial that nobody other than Hermione could possibly have written it. No doubt, she was nervous he would have leaked the letter to the press had she written her true feelings in all their curse-word filled glory. And what was this about an "allergic reaction"? Was she implying he gave someone genital warts or some horrid sexual disease like that?

God! She just couldn't trust him, could she? He wanted to tear up the airplane in frustration, but thought better of it. Instead, he whipped out his quill and put it to the same piece of paper.

He would have to do this in baby steps. He needed to show Hermione she could trust him, and of course in typical Malfoy fashion, he would evoke her trust by forcing an uncomfortable decision upon her in the form of an ultimatum. Either trust that he wouldn't show her letter to anyone, or bare the brute force of his frustration in all its perverted glory.

* * *

Hermione pulled back from her desk as an airplane landed in her lap. Ugh-- she'd specifically told him to _not respond_. She unfolded the letter and flattened it out on her desk to get a better look at it. Written hastily in his chickenscratch beneath her first message was Draco's response.

_Hermione Granger: I see you've declined my invitation, and I'm afraid I am going to have to reject this decision and actually... graciously decline **your **declination. I have your word, and unless you would like me to publicly invite you again in a floating marquee in the Atrium during today's lunch break, you're going to have to follow through with it. I look forward to Saturday. Wear something nice. Maybe see-through._

She hadn't felt so incredibly agitated since Ron had used her Hogwarts textbooks to play drinking games with his Quidditch friends-- "if you flip open to a picture of an old dude, you have to take a shot!"--but even then, at least Ron had had the dignity to admit he'd done something wrong. Draco was impossible! He would stick to his word till the end of time. She'd tried so hard to be entirely professional in the letter, but of course at the same time entirely scathing, and yet here he was throwing that all out the window! Did he not even care that this could fall into the wrong hands, and they'd both be ruined? Hermione turned around in her chair and shoved her face into the cool plush leather seating to muffle the sounds of her screams of frustration.

She couldn't just let him _win_ like that. God no! And what the fuck was this nonsense about wearing something see-through? It was settled. She would _not_ at any cost let him win.

Putting her quill to the same sheet of paper, she scribbled her response and sent the airplane on its way. _That _ought to shut him up.

* * *

_Malfoy- You have such a wild sense of humor. I heard this joke from my secretary-- I thought you would appreciate it. There's a witch and a wizard at a bar. The wizard has this habit of confusing handshakes with sex. When the witch shakes his hand, the wizard takes off his pants. The witch then cuts the wizard's penis off, attaches it to his face, and sticks his hands to his ass.  
_

* * *

_Hermione: I love it when a girl's got a sense of humor. Especially when that girl has agreed to eat dinner with me on Saturday evening. And I still can't wait to see what you're planning on wearing. Or what you're not. Also-- loved that part about the penis-face. That'll **definitely **come in handy when he goes down on her.  
_

* * *

_Malfoy- That is absolutely disgusting. I cannot even believe I just let my corneas be burned out of my skull by reading that. This is over and that's final. End of conversation. Don't send me any more of this shit because I'm just going to throw it away. _

* * *

_Hermione: I bet you're reading this. _

* * *

_Hermione: I bet you're reading this._

* * *

_Hermione: I bet you're reading this._

* * *

_Hermione: I bet you're reading this._

* * *

_Hermione: I bet you're reading this._

* * *

_Hermione: I bet you're reading this._

* * *

_STOP IT! My department just thought the Ministry was under attack because of you, you fucking asshole. You can say what ever you want. I'm not coming Saturday. END. OF. STORY._

* * *

_I do love a challenge. I think I can come up with more than enough ways to make you come. On Saturday. Or really, any day of the week._

..._For dinner, of course. _

* * *

Draco had just sent his last memo on its way when he heard an "ouch!" resound from right outside his office door. Scrambling to his feet, he lunged across his desk and threw the door open with perhaps as little tact as a blind and deaf manatee.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

The Minister of Magic himself, Kinglsey fucking Shacklebolt, with his flowing blue robes and matching hat and the dark eyes and knit brow and the menacingly large stature was holding_ his_ sexy memo, reading it aloud to himself in the hall outside his office.

"...I can come up with more than enough ways..." he managed to get out before Draco made a fairly graceful leap and snatched it right out of the Shacklebolt's hands.

Thousands of excuses began to race through his mind. He'd never thought the day would come where he would have to lie to the Minister of Magic about a potential sexual harassment lawsuit in the form of a lavender-colored airplane. His mouth remained agape as he stupidly began gesturing with his hands, hoping that would be an acceptable explanation for the letter. Oh god, his life was suddenly flashing before his eyes-- except... not really. He was just stuck on the same traumatic image of when he'd accidentally walked in on the house elves doing some sort of orgasmic flea-picking ceremony. This was both good and bad. Good in that it meant it wasn't the end of his life. Bad in that he now had to walk around for the rest of the day with his mind festering in its own putrid and acidic memory-juices. The only good thing Draco could think about was-- at least Shacklebolt was holding only a fragment of their full conversation, as Hermione had wisely decided to incinerate all the rest.

Finally, Draco began to find the words to explain himself.

"My apologies, Shacklebolt. My new secretary is just learning the ropes-- keeps sending personal messages to the wrong people," he explained as coolly as he knew how.

Shacklebolt was unimpressed and straightened his back, clearing his throat. And even though Draco had grown up to be a little taller than Shacklebolt, Shacklebolt always managed to make himself _look _taller, and to make Draco feel about as significant as a steaming pile of shit.

"Malfoy," he began, and oh god just the sound of his name from this man's mouth made Draco want to dive into a corner and hide, "You have a very bright future ahead of you."

What in the world. Well, okay, _that _was obvious, but entirely not the response he was expecting from Shacklebolt.

"It would be very unfortunate to get distracted by personal problems right now. Especially personal problems... that you work with."

Bullocks. Draco had gotten all excited about what Shacklebolt was about to tell him, and now his hopes were taking nose-dives off cliffs. But more important than that that--Merlin, Shacklebolt knew. He had to. He used to know Dumbledore for Christ's sake and Dumbledore was the fucking know-all of know-alls. Draco swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded his agreement. It would absolutely _kill_ Hermione if she knew that Shacklebolt knew.

"Absolutely, Shacklebolt. Believe me, I wouldn't let anything like that interfere with my work," he replied, half-honestly, trying to mask his guilt as best he could.

"I know the kind of reputation you have," Shacklebolt continued, "And you've been cleaning it up very well. Don't let that secretary ruin all your hard work."

Then, the Minister turned and walked away down the hall.

Draco nearly collapsed with relief. Oh god, being linked to an affair with a secretary was _loads _better than being linked to an affair with his running opponent. He never thought the day would come where he would have to think that-- but apparently today was that day.

He folded the lavender piece of paper up as neatly as he could, then tucked it into his back pocket. His life had almost collapsed into complete shambles, but there was no way in hell he was throwing away that airplane.

xXx

* * *

Hermione struggled to drag her feet up the steps to her apartment. She'd had another particularly harrowing day at work and even though the sun hadn't quite set yet, slumber was drawing close. She _still _hadn't eaten dinner yet, and _still _had to shower, and _still _had to finish a few more folders of paperwork-- but after that, she would be home free. The only thing that kept her from passing out right there on the stairs was the thought that if she did indeed lie down for the night, the sounds of her grumbling stomach would probably act as some sort of mating call for rats that would crawl out of the crevices to use her body as insulation.

Sleep deprivation always did wild things to her head.

When she reached the end of the steps, she could see her apartment at the end of the hall like some lighthouse in the distance. Oh god, she was so close to home, she could even _smell _the Chinese food leftovers that she was planning on having for dinner.

Except she'd already eaten the leftovers yesterday night... so then what the hell was she smelling?

As if reading her mind, Draco fucking Malfoy hopped down off the dimly lit window ledge by her door with a brown bag of takeout in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other, still wearing the clothes he'd worn to work. He _had _to be shitting her.

"Hi," he said, striding quickly towards her, "Jesus, you take a long time getting back from work."

Her jaw was still slack from having just been ambushed at her apartment by Draco Malfoy of all people, and now he was trying to talk to her like this was some little _thing_ they did, like it was _normal. _And the last time she had trusted Draco's opinion of _normal_, she'd nearly had a stroke from the frustration. He even had the gall to put his finger beneath her chin and push it back up. In her anger, she whipped out her wand and incinerated the bouquet of roses.

"Get out of my apartment building," she hissed, shoving him aside as she rushed for her door.

Draco stalked her down the hall, holding the now wilted bundle of brown stems and tissue paper.

"Oh-- thanks so much for the flowers, Draco. No, thank _you _for accepting them, Hermione," Draco teased as his lip pulled back in a sneer.

When she finally unlocked her door, she spun around to give him a piece of her mind-- and collided with his chest. God, he had no idea what personal space was, did he? Placing her hands on his front, she pushed him back as hard as she could, but of course, he refused to budge.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Why can't you just leave me alone?" she shouted, swinging her purse about in irritation.

Draco put a finger to his lips just as the door across the hall creaked open and Hermione's wizen neighbor peered out from the crack. Thankfully, his back was facing their door, or else her neighbor would have seen that sadistic little smirk on his face and tasered him in the face, mistaking him for some sort sexual predator... which he sort of was. She was upset with Draco, but she certainly wouldn't want to have to explain a debacle like this to the press.

"Hello Ms. Addly--" she greeted as hospitably as possible for fear of arousing suspicion in the corpse of an old woman. God, that woman had all sorts of shit on speed dial, from the Police to Animal Control. Hermione didn't want to tempt her.

"Hello Hermione," she replied, surprisingly jovial for a skeleton, "Did you see the beautiful roses your boyfriend got you?"

Hermione's face must have done something incredibly strange at that moment to evoke Draco's guffaws of delight. What the _hell_ did Ms. Addly just call Draco? _Her boyfriend_? Had Draco already met Ms. Addly? Had he filled her small old-woman head with all sorts of crazy lies that only an 80 year old corpse would believe?

And for the love of Merlin-- _usually _people talked about this sort of thing. _Usually _people went on these little things called _dates _before declaring each other their girlfriends and boyfriends. _Usually_, people didn't come parading into her apartment building, telling her neighbors he was her boyfriend when just hours ago, she'd threatened to chop off his dick if he came near her. These were all of course, in the realm of "the usual" and seeing as Draco was completely and absolutely and insanely _un_usual, she should have really seen this coming.

She wanted to break his nose and rip out his perfectly silky hair. She wanted to knee him in the crotch and slap his face till it turned bright red. She wanted to KILL him.

But not in front of Ms. Addly.

Draco quickly hid the dead roses beneath his jacket and turned to look at Ms. Addly over her shoulder.

"Hermione just brought them inside-- and she absolutely loved them," he said, shooting her a devastatingly charming smile that even Hermione had trouble turning away from. Did he ever used to smile at her like that? She couldn't remember.

Apparently it worked, because Ms. Addly, for the first time in the five years she had lived across the hall from her, blushed.

"Okay... well, I was just checking. I heard some shouting and thought perhaps she hadn't liked them," Ms. Addly replied, "But I see that everything's fine."

Oh god, Draco was going to seduce her neighbors one by one until they were all on _his _side. And then she would be ousted from her own apartment building. Oh the humanity. Ms. Addly looked the happiest she'd looked since Hermione had first moved in. How did Draco do these things?

As soon as Ms. Addly said good night and shut her door, Hermione grabbed Draco by the collar and jerked him down towards her.

"So help me, if you told anybody else in my building that you're my boyfriend, I don't even _know_ what I'm going to do, but it's going to fucking hurt," she threatened before pushing him back and opening her door. She didn't want to raise any more commotion in her hall. They'd been lucky this time, as Ms. Addly hardly watched or read the news out of a fear of all things technological. She didn't know what Hermione did for her work, and thankfully, she probably didn't know who Draco was. For now, she could breathe a little more freely.

Draco walked in behind her, despite her efforts to slam the door in his face. He stood still in the doorway and cleared his throat.

"So... can I come in?" he asked.

Hermione released a grunt of frustration as she pulled two glasses out from the cabinet in her kitchen.

"You're already _in_ you ass," she sneered.

"I suppose I am," he said with a smile, kicking the door shut with his foot and setting the bag of food and dead roses down on her kitchen counter. She immediately snatched up the roses and dumped them into her wastebasket.

"What are you doing here, Draco?" she groaned as she handed him a glass of water. "And just to clarify-- the only reason I _let _you in is because I don't want _you_ getting any more of my neighbors involved in my personal life."

He swirled the glass of water in his hand, then set it on the counter.

"Oh right, of course, of course. You _definitely _didn't let me in because I'd brought you these delightful little boxes of beef and broccoli and vegetable lo mein..." he faded off, smirking, "Do you have any wine?"

"Draco!" she shouted, "What are you doing here?"

She'd gotten to the point where she simply hadn't enough energy to maintain such a dangerously high level of anger. The frustration was waning, slowly mushing into a sort of lukewarm annoyance.

"I'll take that as a 'no'. I'll have to be sure to prepare some for Saturday," he replied, opening the bag and pulling out the boxes of Chinese food. Oh god, he was cheating, blinding her with the delicious-smelling food. She should have taken that moment to shout at him-- tell him there was not going to be an opportunity to drink wine together Saturday-- but her hunger was getting the best of her. She edged closer towards the food, then jumped back when he handed her a pair of chopsticks.

"What? Oh, come on, don't pretend you're not starving," he tempted, waving the chopsticks around.

Well... he _was_ right. Her stomach was eating itself away. Pursing her lips, she snatched the chopsticks from his hand and opened one of the containers. Mmm. Lo mein, Just what she wanted. He was smiling like a school boy the entire time, watching her move around like some sort of museum exhibit. She could hear him narrating it in his head right now-- The elusive Hermione Granger accepts this olive branch from Draco. Then, she prepares to feast.

"Why are you here?" she asked again, much calmer now, roosting on one of her chairs with her legs drawn up beneath her. He sighed, swallowing his bite of food, and set his chopsticks down on top of a napkin.

"Can't we just eat dinner together as old friends?" he said.

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"No because number one, we are _not_ old friends. And number two-- you still don't seem to understand that dinner isn't something that _we _do," she hissed.

"Well, it will be starting Saturday then," he replied.

She threw her chopsticks down onto the table. The man was absolutely impossible.

xXx

* * *

Ms. Addly had been particularly helpful earlier that evening when Draco had first arrived with the roses and takeout.

"Are you her boyfriend?" was the first question she'd asked, peering out between the crack in the door.

There was a myriad of responses he could have given her. No, he was just a friend from out of town. No, he was her second cousin returned from a dragon-hunting expedition in Europe. No, he was her brother from another mother. No, he was _not _her boyfriend. But instead, Draco smiled, held his hand out towards the crack in the door and nodded.

"Yes, I'm her boyfriend," and like that, Ms. Addly opened the door, another victim to Draco's charming smile, and she even let her kiss his hand. She probably hadn't had a male visitor in perhaps one thousand years, judging from the way her face sagged, and it would be a piece of cake weaseling information out of her. She even gave him a slice of this delicious fruity-cakey thing called "fruit cake" while he was waiting. Fruit cake! His mother had never baked anything like this before. Well-- his mother had never baked anything, ever. But by god if his house elves had been allowed to put sugar in Draco's desserts during his child hood, perhaps they would have made something as delicious as this, and perhaps he would have just left Ms. Addly with a demure "thank you" instead of a "holy shit this cake is the most fucking fantastic thing I've eaten in years!".

Surprisingly, Ms. Addly had been mildly amused, if not flattered.

Thus, having wooed Ms. Addly over with his exquisite charm, Draco had proceeded to ask her question upon question about Hermione. Was she a good neighbor? Was she loud? Did she throw parties often? Have lots of male guests over? Have any pets? Did Ms. Addly even know what Hermione did for a living? Not at all.

All Draco mostly gathered from the conversation with Ms. Addly was that Hermione had never caused any trouble, had always been caring and thoughtful and always offered to pick Ms. Addly's groceries up for her, and the only man Ms. Addly had ever seen Hermione bring back to her flat in her five years of living here was Ron Weasley. But not so much any more. She'd sounded almost disappointed when she mentioned that.

But he wasn't going to tell Hermione he'd talked to Ms. Addly about any of this because she was already pissed off enough as it was. He hadn't even gotten to the part where Shacklebolt nearly found them out. And that was really why he'd bought the roses-- to try to butter her up a little before he told her so she would think twice about killing him.

"That is out of the question, Draco! I don't know how many times I have to tell you but I am NOT eating dinner with you," she shouted, crossing her arms across her chest.

Well, he might as well tell her now while she was angry so she could just... let out all the anger at once.

"All right, all right. What if I told you that Shacklebolt read our conversation? Well, actually, just the last part because you burned the other airplanes I sent you but--"

Hermione knocked her chair backwards as she jumped up, her chest heaving and her face completely void of expression. Just complete and utter... nothing. Oh god, this couldn't be good.

"HE WHAT?" she cried, her face suddenly all agony and confusion and anger, much more anger.

"Don't worry-- our names weren't on it-- he thought it was a conversation between me and my secretary," he tried to reply as calmly as possible. That seemed to set her off even more.

"Why in Merlin's name would you think that would make me want to go out with you on Saturday? You little twat! OH god, I knew it was a mistake to talk to you again..." and then she was off, rambling on and on and holding a couch pillow to her face every now and then to muffle her screams. He, meanwhile, stayed put, one arm propped against the back of his chair, the other tapping mindlessly on the table.

When she'd finally calmed down, she threw the pillow back onto the couch and walked to the kitchen where the bar separated her from Draco. With her hands on the counter and her head facing the ground, she let out a giant sigh.

"You know what, Draco? This is clearly a sign. A sign that you are an idiot and that we should never talk again. I don't know _what_ is wrong with you-- that could have cost you your career-- OUR careers! You don't even look like you care! You _clearly_ haven't changed one bit since Hogwarts. There is no fucking way that we're going out on Saturday," she concluded, lifting her head up to check for his reaction.

Ha! Joke was on her! He'd had his screaming fit in his office _hours_ ago, and he'd gone fucking out of his mind trying to figure out what he'd do next. His final answer: he was still dead set on having dinner with her on Saturday.

And GOD there she was again, bringing up Hogwarts and beating that horse shitless. He had to prove to her that he'd changed because, well, because he just had to. He knew why, oh of course he knew why. But if he were to acknowledge it, it'd all of a sudden become this huge scary cloud of truth just constantly hovering over him day in and day out, and he wasn't quite ready to carry that burden just yet. They'd only started talking again just this afternoon for christ's sake.

"I do care. Frankly, I care a lot. But not about the same things you do," he said coolly. She made her way back out of the kitchen and after putting her chair back upright, took a seat. She was breathing normally again. That was a plus.

"Okay Draco, what ever. Let's just be thankful he didn't know it was us, the last thing I want is for something to happen this far along in our careers," she explained all matter-of-factly, "Let's just forget this ever happened and move on. We never talked in the coffee lounge, we never sent each other those stupid messages, we never met, okay?"

Wow, that stung much more than he'd expected. The way she'd said it had just been so cold and calculating. So... heartless. Maybe _she _was the one who hadn't changed since Hogwarts. Too bad, because one way or another she was coming over to eat dinner on Saturday.

"Hermione, actually, the _real _reason I came here is to tell you that the date _is_ still on," he finally replied. Hermione said nothing, just slapped her hand to her face and groaned.

"You have really got some nerve. You will _not_ tell me what to do. I say that the date is _not_ on. GOD, Draco, you really haven't changed-- you just can't stop trying to control everything," she exclaimed.

He laughed, genuinely amused. Hogwarts this Hogwarts that change blah blah blah. She really didn't get it. If _he _hadn't changed, then fuck, _she _must have gone into some fucking timewarp to preserve herself because she hadn't changed one million times more than he hadn't. Oh god that made no sense. But damnit, that's what she did to him.

"Oh come on, Hermione. Do you _really_ think I'm trying to usurp all your power? I'm not trying to _control _you, I'm trying to _help _you change. Open up your mind for fuck's sake. You've stayed just as much the same as I have," he said, throwing up his arms in annoyance.

"I have _too_ changed! I've changed more than you have," Hermione protested.

"If you have, then prove it—accept my offer and spend two hours with me Saturday. Two hours, that's all I'm asking, and I'll make sure we go somewhere private so no one can recognize us," he negotiated.

"Absolutely not."

"Absolutely yes."

"No, Draco."

"Yes, Hermione."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No. Get out."

"Yes, and I will if you come Saturday."

She groaned and rubbed her temples to try to soothe herself.

"For God's sake Granger! It's just a date—it's not a lifetime commitment," he finally shouted. If only she knew the half of it. Oh god, and now the conversation had screeched to a complete halt.

"Why do you want this so bad?" she asked, brow knit in genuine curiosity.

He reeled back in his chair, nearly tipping it over with his irritation.

"To show you that I've changed, Hermione! You still think I'm some sort of big-headed egomaniac, but god, we're running against each other for the same position and you'd think that I'd have your fucking respect by now," he replied.

"And what? You think that going out for dinner is going to prove to me that you've changed?"

"Well, it'll prove to me that you've changed too."

"Oh please, Draco! I don't need to prove anything to you! This is absolutely ridiculous. If we never went on a date, what--fucking nine years ago?--what makes you think that I'll agree to go on one with you now?"

Draco wanted to throw up his arms in elation. He hadn't predicted that it would be that easy to make her contradict herself, but apparently it was. After all, it had only taken hiding out at her apartment with Chinese food and a bouquet of roses for a few hours and then infiltrating her apartment by lying to her neighbor to get here. And didn't that sound... relatively easy? What ever, the point was that he'd won. He wanted to dance. He wanted to do the fucking electric slide all over her flat and then drink all the liquor in her kitchen. Ah. He basked in this moment. He sucked it in. He savored every single nanosecond of it.

"What? So you're telling me you haven't _changed _your mind in what-- what was that? Nine years?"

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, then shut it. Her eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed. God, she was pissed. They could argue semantics all they wanted, but Draco had clearly just caught her in a corner. If she was as prideful as he remembered her being, she only had one option.

"Oh fuck you," she muttered, standing up to clear the table.

"So that's a yes?" he said, raising his brow.

"Get out."

He stood up and headed to the door, smiling the entire way.

* * *

Author's Note: 5.27.08

I realized I should probably date these updates. And uhh... so I rewrote the entire chapter so I could sleep at night knowing that crazy shit wasn't floating around on the internet. And now I'm going to start rewriting the next chapter. And also-- in response to all these questions you people might be having about content discrepancies and incorrect Ministry-structure references and what not-- uh. I guess just think of this as AU then. Also, if you didn't find this funny, then.. I don't know. Go google The Landlord or something instead of reading the rest of this. And holy shit these chapters are longer than I realized.


	3. Vanilla

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the book series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.

**This and Here**

**Chapter Three**

Vanilla

* * *

Hermione would _never _forgive Ginny for this.

Of course, after having diligently scrubbed at her upper lip for a good hour or so, the marker-drawn mustache had come off, but the last thing she wanted Draco thinking when he saw her was-- Oh god, Hermione's got a 'stache. Because she didn't. Honestly.

Her first mistake had probably been letting Ginny come over to help her "mentally prepare" for dinner with Draco. Her second mistake had been agreeing to play Ginny's made-up drinking game to "We Didn't Start the Fire". For every line they missed, they had to take a shot of tequila, and since that song rivaled perhaps only the encyclopedia as a resource for everything that had ever happened to the human species since the beginning of time, Hermione and Ginny were smashed by the first chorus. In all their drunken happiness, they'd decided it would be absolutely _brilliant _if they drew mustaches on all the bug eyed prepubescent looking models in Hermione's Witch Weekly-- which was where Ginny had picked up the tidbit about vanilla being an aphrodisiac. And also where Ginny got the funny idea to draw a mustache on Hermione while she slept on the bathroom floor.

As a peace gesture, Ginny had left her a cup of her hangover pick-me-up that smelled like ass and looked like vomit. But it definitely worked wonders because Hermione had woken up just an hour ago, an hour that she'd spent that rubbing at her face, and Draco was supposed to arrive in just about twenty minutes. Er.. make that nineteen.

Hermione jumped into the shower, leaving her alcohol soaked clothes on the bathroom floor, and tried to rinse the smell of tequila out of her hair as best as she could. She didn't even know why she was concerned about being clean for Draco. It wasn't like she was trying to impress him or anything with her hygiene. It was Draco Malfoy for Merlin's sake. He would probably show up wearing jorts and a fannypack.

Oh god, no he wouldn't. He would probably be wearing something tailored and snug and complimentary to every aspect of his body because he always managed to pull off _looking_ good despite actually _being_ an asshole. She wiped the condensation off her mirror and with her wand, began to tug and tease and straighten her hair until it looked somewhat decent, which was more than Draco deserved. How had she ever let herself get caught in this mess? Knowing Draco, this couldn't possibly turn out well.

Just as she'd pulled on a pair of straight leg jeans and a white tunic top, she heard him knocking on her door. Of course, he was exactly on time. She snatched her purse and green cardigan from her bed and slipped on her leather sandals, then looked herself over in her bedroom mirror one last time. Okay. She looked good. She looked more than good. Ugh... which just proved that she was _actually_ concerned about how she looked-- which definitely was not what she wanted to be worrying about when preparing to go on a date with Draco. She quickly fixed her mascara, then headed to the front door but not before catching sight of the bottle of vanilla oil on her kitchen counter.

"Rub it on what your mother gave you," she read the post-it out loud. It was signed, Ginny. With a stupid little heart. Right... so she just needed to rub this oil on her eyeballs and her hair. She crumpled up the note and threw it into the wastebasket, but couldn't keep from eying the vanilla. Well, it certainly wasn't a crime to want to smell good. She sniffed, then unscrewed the cap and proceeded to dab it profusely across her chest.

What the hell was she doing? She hated that just the mere thought of him made her get so nervous. She put the lid back onto the bottle, then threw it into the wastebasket along with Ginny's note. This was just getting ridiculous. It was _one _date. No, not even a date. A discussion. A purely professional discussion about their future ambitions and their stances on government policies. She tried to imagine Draco as Ron's dad. Oh god, and she nearly threw up in her mouth.

This was just Draco. Draco Malfoy. _The _Draco that used to tell people her name was "Hermaphrodite". Ooh, she'd nearly forgotten about that, that little fucker. She bent over, then flipped her hair over her head, primped it a little, and opened the door.

Oh Merlin, she was in trouble.

xXx

* * *

Thank goodness for Ms. Addly. Draco might not have even known for sure whether Hermione was expecting him had he not called her regularly to request she bake Hermione fruit cakes in an effort to engage her in conversation. Ms. Addly had gladly obliged, as Draco had been _so _charming and _so_ helpful the first time they'd met. According to Ms. Addly, when she'd asked what Hermione was doing Saturday night, Hermione had calmly replied that she was having a business dinner with a co-worker. How Hermione-like of her. Well, to be fair, she hadn't exactly said yes. She'd said no, plenty of times and in multiple variations, a curse word here, a 'fuck you' there, but not a single yes. But he had his answer now, and she'd cleared her schedule for him so that was enough.

Standing outside her apartment, waiting for her to answer her door, he casually glanced over at his reflection in the window at the end of the hall. He was so used to wearing suits all the time that he'd almost forgotten what one was supposed to wear on a date. Okay, actually, he'd gone on plenty of dates recently, but not with any woman that he had _wanted_ to impress... not like he was trying to impress Hermione or anything. He'd had to dig a little into his closet to find the wide-brimmed black wool coat that had fit spectacularly the first time he tried it on. He simply hadn't found an occasion to wear it since then, but today-- today was different.

She was really taking her time, wasn't she? He tried to angle his body more suggestively, propped his arm up against the door frame with his thumb hooked in his mouth like those models in the fashion ads. He still hadn't decided what he wanted out of this. Still wasn't quite sure whether or not it was worth it, if all this anger she'd been directing at him these past few days were any indication of her true sentiments. At least when they hadn't been talking, he could lie to himself. But again, this was all fairly indefinite because once he acknowledged it as truth.. well, he'd already gone over that. And speaking of virtues like honesty and trust and truth and what not-- he had one card still left up his sleeve. One serum-y card that would make or break the image he had of his future.

He heard her moving around the front door--probably grabbing her purse, fixing her face, that kind of womanly thing. He took a deep breath as the door finally opened.

And immediately released it at the sight of her.

God, he'd never seen her in anything but her work clothes, and even then he'd thought she looked... well, breath-taking. And now, here she was, standing in front of him with her eyes a little wider than he remembered and her chest sort of heaving beneath her white top, in jeans and sandals, and still sucking the breath out of his lungs. At least he wasn't the only one who'd been caught slightly off guard. Realizing he was staring, he took a step back and held out his hand.

"Shall we?" he asked.

She locked her door and dropped her keys into her purse, then turned to look at him with her brow raised in suspicion. For fuck's sake, couldn't she just _relax_ for five minutes?

"Where are we going?" she asked, her hands on her hips.

"Damn it Hermione," he groaned, then grabbed her hand and with a BOOM, they were gone.

xXx

* * *

Oh god, he _had _to be kidding her. His family's mansion in Wiltshire? Really?

She recognized the front of it from the pictures the Daily Snitch had published the day after Lucius had been arrested and dragged shouting from his home. She turned to look at Draco who'd released her hand as soon as they'd successfully apparated to the doorstep, and he was already bounding up to the main doors. Jeez. Her hand suddenly felt lonely.

She looked up towards the sky and saw thunder clouds drifting overhead. No wonder he'd worn that coat. That incredible coat that did incredible things for his gray eyes and his bright blonde hair. She shook the image of him leaning against her door frame out of her head. Remember. She was here to talk business, not sex. She wrapped her cardigan around her a little more tightly and ran to catch up with him.

"Why are we here, Draco?" she asked as she slid up beside him. He banged the door with the giant brass knocker, then turned to look at her.

"Well, you wanted privacy and I haven't been back to this place in nine years. The last place anyone would expect to see us together would be--"

The doors flew open and like some ridiculously glitzy vision from a Miss Universe pageant, Narcissa Malfoy stood in front of them wearing a skinny glittering silver shower curtain. Her blonde hair, as light as Draco's, was pulled back tightly in a pin straight ponytail that went halfway down her back. Hermione had seen Narcissa from afar hundreds of times at Hogwarts, and since then, she'd occasionally seen her picture in the paper. But god, she was so much more alien-like up close and in person.

And what had Draco said about not being back here in nine years? Why the hell had they let him back? She would ask him later, out of earshot of his lemur of a mother.

"Welcome," she said, her smile sickeningly wide, "I'm Narcissa, Draco's mother."

She held out a hand to Hermione. Hermione had never wanted this moment to come. She'd never wanted to meet Malfoy's weird parents with their weird rituals, with their mistreatment of house elves and their hatred of all things un-pureblood. She was surprised Narcissa wasn't being any less polite in meeting her. Clearly, she had to know who she was. Hermione shook her hand politely.

"It's a pleasure, Narcissa. I'm—"

"Draco's already told me so much about you," Narcissa interrupted, gesturing for the two of them to enter.

Hermione's mouth was still hanging open, her name still hanging on her lips, when Narcissa turned and walked off down the main hall. Good god, she hoped they weren't eating dinner with her. If that was the case, well, Draco certainly had a way with the ladies, what with this surprise meeting with the parents on the first date and getting chaperoned at dinner and such. Draco took her hand and led her down the hall after his mother. Hermione felt her hand go numb and her heart speed up... probably from the exercise.

"Draco was preparing something before he left to go pick you up since you are apparently an adamant supporter of House Elf rights," she said, not even bothering to disguise her sneer, "So enjoy your dinner. And do be sure to not _touch _anything."

With a sniff, Narcissa snapped her fingers and apparated off somewhere with a BOOM that echoed in the gigantic hallway.

Hermione swallowed her anger because Narcissa had been surprisingly nicer than Hermione had expected. And it wasn't as though she would've felt comfortable with Narcissa hanging around for very much longer any ways. She'd only heard stories about Narcissa. About her crazy vendettas with the Ministry and Azkaban. Perhaps that was why Draco had left nine years ago, and why he hadn't been back until... apparently today. She didn't know whether to feel flattered that he'd gone out of his way to bring her here, or to feel uncomfortable that she was breathing the same air as that bug-eyed corn stalk Narcissa.

Then he was tugging on her hand again, pulling her down the hall so that they were both sort of running, sort of speed-walking.

"Draco--" she started to protest.

"The faster we get to the kitchen, the faster we get away from my mother," he quickly explained, and she immediately picked up her pace. So help her, if this got them as far away from Narcissa as possible, she would fucking shoot flames out her ass if it meant they would get there faster.

xXx

* * *

There was an explanation for the simplicity of the meal.

As a child, Draco had only ever eaten healthy gourmet dishes for his meals. His snacks had consisted of vegetables and fruits. His desserts had been sugar-free. He hadn't drank a sip of anything with carbonation, too much processed juices or alcohol until he'd started attending Hogwarts. The night after he'd drank his first full can of soda, he'd nearly jumped naked out of one of the castle turrets.

Thus, the very simple but somehow very complex grilled cheese sandwich had eluded him for years. It wasn't exactly unhealthy, but it wasn't exactly _gourmet_ either. He'd ordered it out of curiosity at a muggle cafe for lunch years ago, and knowing that Hermione had been raised with muggle parents, well... he thought this was something she would be able to appreciate.

When he'd whipped the cloth off the plate of sandwiches after they'd walked into the kitchen, she'd laughed. But then seeing the extreme seriousness of his face, realized that he hadn't been joking. This was what they were having for dinner, and she probably decided to keep her mouth shut because if she'd complained, he would have called up the house elves and had them prepare something.

They decided to eat in the kitchen, since the dining room was ridiculously shiny and distracting. And plus, the five thousand spoons and forks would only get in the way while they were eating their sandwiches with their hands.

Draco leaned against the kitchen counter as Hermione roosted on a bar stool next to him. Her cardigan and his coat were laying across the island.

"Why did you decide to make grilled cheese sandwiches?" she asked, wiping her hands off with a napkin as she finished her sandwich. Apparently, he hadn't done half bad with this grilling and cheesing thing.

"I thought it was a muggle thing and figured you'd like it," he said with a shrug, reaching for another sandwich, "Split it with me?"

She obliged, pulled on the other side of the sandwich till it broke in half and cheese oozed out the cut.

"It's very..." she struggled to find the right word.

"Normal?" he asked.

"Well, I was going to say 'human'. But 'normal' works too," she said with a laugh.

She didn't even flinch away when he looked at her. This was turning out to be much better than he'd hoped. She wasn't yelling at him, she wasn't trying to pick a fight, and best of all, she wasn't threatening to chop his dick off. For the first time since they'd spoken to each other in the coffee lounge, she looked like she was legitimately enjoying herself.

"You said something earlier-- about not having been back here in nine years. That meant you left right after Hogwarts... why'd you leave?" she asked, crossing her legs while pulling pieces off the sandwich and popping them into her mouth.

He'd forgotten he'd mentioned that. It wasn't particularly something he _loved_ talking about, but it wasn't some horrible secret either. He just didn't like dwelling on the past.

"Ah-- my parents weren't really supportive of my decision to join the Ministry," he replied, taking a long drink from his glass of, yes, milk. She eyed him down, waiting for a more elaborate explanation.

"What?" he challenged, setting the remains of his sandwich down on his plate.

"Oh come on, there's got to be more than that," she pressed, setting down her sandwich as well.

"No," he shook his head, pursed his lips, "That's... really about it."

She scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. Oh god, he didn't want her getting all moody again. He sighed and slumped a little lower against the counter. He really, really hated talking about things like this.

"You remember how it was back then.. well, you know, way back at the beginning. The Ministry and Death Eaters. Well, my father wasn't exactly excited to see me running off to help the Ministry build a case against him," he explained, "So I wasn't welcome back. And after a while, I didn't _want_ to come back. Especially after Lucius was arrested."

"But... we're here, so something must have happened, right?"

Ha! If only she knew why Narcissa had been so eager to have Hermione over. Even if she'd bolted within the first thirty seconds of meeting her.

"Well, my parents have changed over the years," he replied, trying to get in a dig about _change_ and _time_ and all those grand notions they'd argued about over Chinese food the other night, "_All _of us have changed."

She didn't respond, so he took her silence as submission. God, maybe she was _finally _getting the picture. Not wanting to press is luck, he quickly tried to change the subject.

"You know what's so strange about these ones?" he said, waving his half of the sandwich around, "They smell a little like vanilla."

Hermione suddenly began to flush a rosy pink. What the? Was she hot or something? He turned away and continued eating his sandwich. But then stopped halfway through.

"Do you-- do you need some air or something?"

She pressed her hands to her cheeks and let out her breath in a slow hiss, like some sort of balloon. Maybe she'd had some sort of allergic reaction to the food. He set down the rest of his sandwich and dusted his hands off on his jeans. Then grabbed his coat from the island, and handed her her cardigan.

"Come on, let's go. I'll show you my mother's gardens," he said, gesturing with a nod of his head towards the French doors at the back of the kitchen.

He held her cardigan out for her as she slid her arms into the sleeves, then unconsciously ran his hands down her arms. God, she felt so soft. She felt so-- perfect. When she turned her head to look up at him, he immediately pulled his hands away. But surprisingly enough, she wasn't even looking at him in anger. She was just sort of... looking. Weird. And slightly tingly too. He suppressed his smile and turned his face away from hers.

Sliding his coat on, he strode to the doors to the balcony and held them open for her.

"Thanks, Draco," she said as she walked past, brushing up against him and making his stomach do all sorts of acrobatic things. For some reason, he thought holding his breath would make it easier to control his body, but instead it just made his heart beat faster.

"For what?" he asked, closing the door behind them as they walked out onto the balcony.

"For dinner. It was... surprisingly thoughtful of you," she said with a nod and a smirk.

Thoughtful. That was a new one. He smiled back. Yeah, he could be pretty thoughtful when he wanted to be.

xXx

* * *

Hermione was thoroughly impressed.

The grilled-cheese sandwiches had been a little unexpected. But in a good way. The look on Draco's face when he'd whipped off the sandwich covering had been so entirely innocent that every fear and every doubt she'd had about his intentions for the date had flown out the window. After all, what kind of man tries to seduce a woman with a grilled cheese sandwich? Mm, yeah baby, this melted cheese feels so good on this crispy toasted bread in my mouth. Fail.

Knowing Draco and knowing how he'd been raised, grilled-cheese had probably never been apart of his diet. It must've taken him hours to realize that he was supposed to melt the cheese _with _the bread. Not separately.

And now they were walking through the Malfoy's private gardens down a long gravel and seashell encrusted walkway that had to be at least a mile long. Every hedge they passed bloomed with all sorts of flowers--some that talked, some that sang, and even some that tried to be fresh and get all up in Hermione's business. But she hadn't even really minded that much, because thank Merlin they'd left the kitchen when they had or else Draco would have realized that the vanilla smell had been coming from her boobs-- not the sandwiches.

"Your mother did all of this?" she asked a little skeptically. She couldn't imagine Narcissa doing _any_ sort of manual labor, especially if it was out in nature.

Draco shrugged.

"I don't remember it being this big... she must have added to it after I left," he explained, "But, from what I remember, yeah, she'd planted all of it. With the help of magic, of course."

Of course, of course.

She folded her arms across her chest as she walked, tugging her cardigan a little closer around her. God it was cold. And any second now it'd start pouring, judging from the clouds looming over them. But the last thing she wanted was to go back inside and have him sniffing around her again, getting all... aroused or something.

"Here," he said. And then she felt a weight on her shoulders and his hands on her arms again, and her mouth went dry. Just his coat. Nothing to freak out about.

She tried to wriggled it off of her shoulders but he keep his hands there.

"This is stupid, you're going to get cold," she argued.

He loosened his shoulders and stretched his arms out. God, that green v-neck sweater fit so nicely-- she could see just the right amount of outline of his torso.

"Then let's switch. Would your cardigan go well with my eyes?" he teased. She didn't want to, but she laughed, and in protest of--well, herself, for laughing at him-- she stalked as far to the other side of the path as she could.

"Oh, come on Hermione. I'll be fine, I've got a sweater on... And it's my fault any ways-- I should've told you where we were going so you could've brought a heavier jacket. Consider this my punishment for... myself," he explained as he followed her beeline across the path.

Ugh, why did he have to be so... so... _endearing_? She tried to conceal her smile, but clearly failed because when she turned to look at him, he was grinning from ear to ear.

"You know, I've always wanted to know something about you," he asked.

If this was some stupid question about virtues and values and morals again...

"What happened between you and Weasley?"

She stopped walking. Not because she was angry. More because she was confused. She was actually enjoying talking to Draco, but this-- this was a different sort of threshold all together. What did he want to be? Friends or something? And god, if he _did_ want that... well, it just came so natural to be on the defensive with him that even after the grilled cheese and the funny jokes and the nice conversations, she couldn't just open herself up to him. She wasn't even sure what she wanted from him yet.

UGH. Why was she thinking so hard about this? It was _just_ Draco. Draco, who had proved that he could be attractive and charming and giving and kind and just... really really thoughtful. When it came down to it, he'd already told her about his past. Maybe it was just fair that she told him a little about hers too.

Draco tucked his hands into his pockets and dipped his head down in front of hers to check her reaction. She sighed and rolled her eyes, swatted him away.

"We just didn't have time for each other," she said as she started walking again. He followed, nodding his head and rubbing his chin like he knew what she was talking about.

"I meant-- how did it happen?"

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"You know, how did it start? I just, I don't know, I read about the engagement in the paper and was... surprised. I thought it would've happened sooner," he said, turning away from her.

What the hell was he talking about? She and Ron had been dating for two years before getting engaged. Was that _so _unnatural these days?

"Why's that?" she asked.

She turned around when she realized he'd stopped walking behind her. He was looking at his shoes, his shoulders slack, his arms folded across is chest. She took a few steps back towards him, positioned herself so she was standing in front of him. What the hell. Now wasn't exactly the best time to meditate.

Then he abruptly turned his head back up to look at her with a weirdly pensive smile. She pulled his coat tighter around her. His face then lit up and he lifted his arms in front of him.

"I think it was just the general public consensus that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, two thirds of the Golden Trio--" he made dramatic gestures in the air, framing their names on an imaginary theater marquee, "--would be married right out of Hogwarts."

She laughed in an effort to lighten the mood, but it came out in a sort of choking gasping way. Yeah, of course she knew what people had expected of her and Ron. That was half the reason she finally gave in that one night, let him kiss her after that fifth shot, said yes when he got down on one knee and asked her to marry him in front of his entire Quidditch team and the hundred thousand spectators after winning the Quidditch World Cup.

But geez, getting married right out of Hogwarts? She'd been too... just too-- GOD, just too _stuck _on other things to have even thought about dating Ron, much less _marrying _him.

"Coming out of Hogwarts, Ron was the last person I saw myself with," she grimaced.

"Who was the first?" he immediately replied.

She laughed in that choky-gaspy way again.

"What are you talking about?"

He took a step towards her.

"Who was the first person you saw yourself with?"

And all of a sudden he was very, very close. Close enough that she could see the little flecks in his eyes as they darted across her face. She could see his arms moving inch by inch towards hers. When she ran her tongue over her unexpectedly dry lips, he moved his head even closer. Her breath came out in a slow hiss.

This was _exactly_ what she'd been so scared of. She should never have talked about this to him because now she was tempted to tell him, and god, it would be so enlightening, so absolutely satisfying to just _say _it. Especially with him so _close. _Close enough to...

Fuck, his hands were on her arms and now her heart was beating all erratically. _So_ erratically. She should tell him. No. She shouldn't. She should. Okay, she should.

But then where would she be? What the hell was she supposed to say?

"I--" she began. Then stopped when she saw Draco's face.

"Are you crying?" she asked skeptically.

"What?" he replied, then brought his hand to his face and touched the wet trail on his cheek. But then another appeared on his forehead. And another on the tip of his nose.

"Ah shit," he groaned, "It's starting to rain. Let's get back inside."

She wanted to praise every deity possible that had pooled their resources together to save her from making perhaps a horrible horrible mistake.

The rain started to come down heavier now, heavy enough that she could feel it wetting her hair. This would feel so much better if it weren't so cold. Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her along back towards the house.

"God damn this walkway's long," he said with a laugh as he turned around to check how she was doing with the sheets of rain kamikaze-ing into her face.

She was hanging onto his coat for dear life with one hand while he pulled her along with the other. Oh god, her clothes were all wet. She could feel them sticking to her skin. It was a doubly good thing that she'd brought a cardigan _and _taken his coat, as her top had been white-- _had been_, seeing as that it was now probably the color of... naked.

She smiled at him in response, because yes, the walkway was ridiculously long and in sandals, it was a struggle running this fucking marathon back to the Manor.

Still staring at her, Draco failed to see the large puddle in front of him and ran right through it, splashing water all along his pants. She had to stop as the laughter racked her body, and also, a little because her lungs were half-filled with rain water.

"Oh, that's funny?" he asked, smirking. The wind was doing all sorts of wonderful things to his blonde hair, flicking it around his face this way and that so he looked like some sort of hot mountain man, but without the facial hair. Oh god, where did these images come from?

Then he was lunging at her and lifting her over his shoulder. She immediately began screaming and beating the back of his body with her fists. THIS was completely inappropriate. But at the same time, she couldn't keep herself from enjoying it. It was actually pretty fun.

"You twat! Put me down! So help me, I'll zap warts on your ass if you don't--"

Before she could get out the rest of her threat, her feet were back on solid ground again. He had his hands on her hips and she was somehow a little taller than him. His face was crinkled up in laughter, and covered in water, and his clothes were completely soaked through.

Even with the cold rain, the wind, the fact that they were at Malfoy Manor-- it felt so _right._ She wanted to hold his face to her chest, she wanted to run her hands through his wet hair, and most of all, she wanted to go somewhere warm and lay there with him, wrapped up in his body. Oh god, these thoughts were getting out of hand. When she moved to take a step away from him, his eyes grew wide and he lunged after her--

And she landed ass-first in a fountain. Draco nearly landed on top of her, but he managed to roll himself to the side, splashing up more water as he went. She could hear him laughing through the pitter-patter of the rain.

"Ouch," she muttered before standing up and giving him a helping hand. MERLIN her tits were going to freeze off. She wrapped his wet coat tighter around her. Oh fuck, like that would really help.

"Sorry about that-- I suppose I should have warned you," he apologized as they made their way back into the kitchen. She shrugged. She was just thankful that a fire was already crackling in the kitchen fireplace.

"Thanks for the coat," she said. It was soaked through now and hanging limply around her shoulders. He pulled it off of her, shook it a little, then hung it by the door to dry. A puddle of water started to form beneath it. She considered taking off the rest of her clothes, but realized that that would leave her naked. And she was still at Malfoy Manor. And Narcissa would probably glide in like some sort of fucking bat and make some crude comment about cottage cheese thunder thighs or mosquito bite boobs.

Instead, she opted to huddle by the fire, her teeth chattering so loudly that she didn't hear Draco offer her a towel until he was directly behind her, holding it over her shoulders.

When she turned to thank him, he was already changing out of his wet clothes, pulling off his sweater and undoing the belt buckle of his pants. Her breath caught in her throat.

"What are you doing?" she asked. He looked up, just as his pants had dropped to the floor, and without even the smallest hint of modesty, stood up to his full height and walked towards her in just his briefs.

Oh god oh god oh god. He was absolutely _perfect._

Not too Ron-bulky, not too Harry-scrawny. Abso-fucking-lutely _perfect_. The perfectly broad shoulders, the perfectly narrow waist, the perfectly formed torso and arms, the perfectly-- her breath caught in her throat as she felt her head grow extremely light. She sharply sucked in a breath of air, then turned away. God, what was wrong with her?

"Getting out of my wet clothes," he replied, breaking her out of her reverie, "Didn't your mother ever teach you anything about hypothermia, pneumonia, all those thousands of other deathly medical ailments?"

Oh, right, of course. Hypothermia, pneumonia, perfect excuses to get naked. She pulled her towel tighter around her when he approached her. But instead of touching her or doing anything similarly _gooey_, he reached around her and yanked his towel down from the mantle where he'd left it to warm up.

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione. Just _calm down._ I'm not going to throw you over my shoulder and have my way with you if you take off your clothes..." he said.

As he wrapped the towel around his waist, he smiled cheekily, "Certainly not without your permission."

She groaned and started to take off her cardigan, being sure to keep her back faced towards him.

"I didn't remember seeing raping and pillaging on the agenda for the evening," she countered, pulling her top over her head.

She heard him laughing, and quickly unzipped her pants and slid them down her legs, still not sure if he was facing towards her or away from her.

"Like I said Hermione... not without your permission."

Finally done taking off her wet clothes, save her underwear of course, she wrapped the comfortably plush and large towel around her and turned to face him. Surprisingly enough, his back was facing towards her and he was staring out the French doors to the balcony. Huh. Interesting.

"You can turn around now, Draco," she said, already beginning to feel much warmer.

He glanced over his shoulder to check first, as if she would lie to him about something like this, then fully turned around and set his hands down on the counter.

"Thank you for the towel," she said, watching him as he slowly made his way around the counter towards her.

"My pleasure."

He came to a stop in front of her, leaned against the counter with his arms folded across his chest and with his legs crossed at the ankles.

"Is it warm enough in here?" he asked, genuinely concerned. She nodded, then in a highly un-Hermione move as she was still riding the high of having just gotten almost naked in front of Draco Malfoy, shifted towards where he was resting against the counter to lean against it beside him.

As soon as her arm brushed up against his, she flinched away.

"You're still cold!" she cried.

And that might as well have been a siren's call because Draco abruptly pushed away from the counter, spun around, and with his arms on either side of her, pressed his crotch dangerously close against her.

"So warm me up," he said.

* * *

Author's Note: 5.29.08

Bam. And another chapter... finito. I changed everything in this. Except for two lines of dialogue. Now I can sleep at night.


	4. Truth and Love and Such

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the book series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.

**This and Here**

**Chapter Four**

Truth and Love and Such

* * *

Pushed up against her like this, well, it felt fucking _heavenly. _

It smelled pretty heavenly, too.

And the best part of all was that Hermione hadn't even slapped him yet. Her chest was even heaving a bit.

No matter what she was doing, she always looked so _perfect_ to him. The way she looked over the counter while they'd eaten his grilled cheese sandwiches with glasses of milk. The way she looked running through the rain with her wavy wet hair framing her face and her body perfectly consumed by _his _coat. The way she looked with just a towel on and her clothes in little puddles on the floor.

Yeah. He just couldn't get her out of his head.

She was staring up at him, her lips parted just the slightest, her eyes wildly darting across his face. Was he being serious? Always. This was what he'd wanted to do for a whole fucking nine years. Press her up against a wall or a bar counter or a table and touch her and kiss her and make her cry his name--

"Draco," she whispered, her lips so close to his that he could feel her breath gently brushing against him, "No thanks."

And then she was pushing him away from her, but with the slightest hint of a smile, so he didn't feel _too_ dejected. She took a seat on a stool on the other side of the counter as he paced back and forth with his hands on his hips.

"It was worth a try," he said as he turned to face her. She had her chin propped up on one of her hands and merely shrugged in response. She didn't have to tell him why it really_ wasn't_ worth the try. He knew her well enough.

What ever. This date was going far better than anything he could have imagined. They'd successfully gotten through the evening without having to argue theoretics. She'd even opened up to him about that ass, Weasley.

They may not have spoken to each other in the nine years they'd been working at the Ministry, but god, they were still Draco and Hermione. Hermione and Draco. He knew her better than anyone else. Certainly better than Ron ever had and ever would. Sure, their whatever-it-was at Hogwarts had lasted less than a year, but if he hadn't thought it was worth it, he wouldn't have waited so long for it to happen again. He was positive he knew what he wanted from her now. There was just the minor problem of getting her to give it to him. And no, not like that.

"You're pretty good at this turning-a-person-off sort of thing," he joked.

"Well, I'd hope so. After all, I learned it from you," she replied.

He dramatically placed his hands over his heart and staggered away from the counter.

"Ouch."

She smirked, then rested her arms on the counter in front of her.

"'Warm me up'? Come on Draco. I thought you had more tact than that," she said.

She'd made a good point. That was perhaps one of the lamest pick-up lines he'd ever used before--like some sort of Eskimo mating call. Warm me up baby and I'll club you a seal. If he wanted to impress Hermione, he'd really have to bring his A-Game.

"Mhmm..." he muttered, relieved that she'd found the entire ordeal funny rather than offensive.

"Do you have anything to drink?" she asked.

Actually...

"Glad you asked," he smirked.

He walked over towards one of the cabinets and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of wine. He'd brought the bottle up from the cellar earlier to have with their dinner, but had tucked it away before apparating to Hermione's flat after realizing that a grilled cheese sandwich tasted much better _without_ the alcohol. But now that they had nothing to do while waiting for their clothes to dry, wine seemed entirely appropriate.

"Of course," she said knowingly when he set down a glass in front of her.

"I said I'd have some, didn't I?" he replied, taking a long sip from his glass, "Plus, it'll warm us up."

She scoffed.

"Hot chocolate warms you up. Coffee warms you up. Wine gets you drunk," she countered. But that didn't keep her from taking a sip.

"Then let's make a toast," he said, "Here's to drinking in moderation."

She laughed and raised her glass to his. They clinked their glasses together and simultaneously took a drink. This night was just getting better and better.

xXx

* * *

She'd known perfectly well what she was doing the second she'd accepted the third glass of wine. She, Hermione Granger, was getting just a _tiny _bit hammered with Draco Malfoy in his kitchen with nothing on but their underwear and towels. And she was feeling good about it.

Draco poured the rest of the wine into his glass, then with a pathetic look of dejection on his face, set the empty bottle down on the counter.

"Bullocks," he complained.

And she hated admitting it, but she was a little disappointed too. The wine had definitely worked wonders on their conversation. Not like their conversation hadn't been going well enough sober--but wine, oh sweet delicious wine, made all sorts of things okay, like sex and fart jokes that normally would have made her grimace. But right now, they were making her keel over with laughter.

"Maybe that's for the best," she said, finishing off the rest of the wine in her glass. Sure, she was a little bit buzzed, but she still had enough wits about her to know that this was a horrible idea. Sober, she'd had one hell of a time trying to keep her mind off of him. Drunk? Oh god, she didn't even want to consider what could happen.

Draco nodded, then loped over towards the giant steel refrigerator.

"Hermione-- you like things like _honesty_, right?" he asked as he swung one of the large doors open.

She scoffed.

"What? Is that some sort of wine franchise-- because if it is Draco, we shouldn't..."

He kicked the door shut with his foot and set a clear bottle of truth serum onto the counter. She recognized it by the dark veiny cloud that hovered nebula-like in the middle of a sea of red liquid. She'd drank it with Ginny once at her Bridal Shower to help her confront some of her final fears about marriage. Instead, Ginny had belted out a medley of Cyndi Lauper's greatest hits in an effort to discourage people from asking her questions. The only secret Hermione managed to weasel out of Ginny was her great hidden fear that she would get cankles if and when she and Harry had their first baby. And that Harry would want to name it something horrid like _Albus_ and then the kids at Hogwarts would call him _Anus_ or _Albutt_ or _Assface. _

Just your typical run-of-the-mill assface fears.

"I'm sure you know what this is," he said, waving the bottle around. She nodded. Duh.

"Why do you have it?"

He shrugged. "We've got all sorts of random shit like this lying around."

She raised a brow skeptically.

"And... I thought it'd be... cool... if we drank it," he muttered.

Good god, how old was Draco? Kids used to play this game at Hogwarts for shits and giggles during that awkward pimply prepubescent stage when it's totally _cool _and totally _romantic _to reveal deep dark secrets and deep dark crushes huddled around a circle with all sorts of pizza-faces and four-eyed nerds twiddling their thumbs in anticipation. She tried to channel her disbelief to Draco through her stare.

"Really, Draco?" she asked.

"It'll be fun, I promise," he said, unscrewing the cap and pouring himself a glass. He held it out towards her, shook it a little so that the serum nearly sloshed out the top.

"What do you say?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but couldn't get a 'no' out. She actually _wanted_ to drink it. And she was almost 99 sure that it was because she'd just finished drinking three glasses of wine that she was so eager to start spilling her guts out to Draco. The night had just been going so pleasantly. And their clothes were still a little damp, so they had time to kill any ways.

She reached over the counter and took the bottle from his hand, then poured herself a glass. Oh god, she was probably going to regret this, but right now, she didn't care because she was feeling a little loopy and a little excited and just the littlest tiniest bit... horny.

He raised his brow as he tipped his head back and drank. She did the same. And it tasted just as marvelously as she remembered. Like cherry soda with a hint of vanilla and mint. This was definitely _not_ what truth tasted like in real life.

"Are you having a good time?" he quickly asked.

She nodded. She wouldn't have wanted to lie about that any ways.

"Are _you_ having a good time?" she countered.

"The best," he replied with a smile.

She wasn't sure if it was the truth serum that was making her feel light headed, or the way he was looking at her, but whatever the reason, she couldn't keep herself from staring at him.

"Between the two of us, who do you think will be the next Minister of Magic?"

"Me, of course," she laughed. Oh god, wow she was cocky. She straightened her face and cleared her throat. This truth business was making her slightly uncomfortable.

"If you had to choose between being stuck on a deserted island with Harry, or being stuck on a deserted island with Ron, who would you choose?" she asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

He simultaneously jumped up and slid down the counter towards her, shaking his head in laughter. Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. She'd nearly seen his junk fly out.

"Harry. He'd be smart enough to get us off. Ron would just throw tantrums all day, go beat up on coconut trees and jump off cliffs-- stupid shit like that," he answered. And even though he'd blatantly insulted her two friends, one of which was her ex-fiancee, she couldn't help laughing, because Ron definitely _would_ do stupid shit like that if stuck on an island with Draco.

He rested his hands on the edge of the counter as they slowly eased into silence.

"Are you happy working for the Ministry?" he abruptly asked.

She was caught a little off guard, but answered any ways.

"Yes," she replied. Well, happy _enough._ He sensed her hesitation.

"Do you _want_ to be working for the Ministry?"

Another pause.

"No," she sighed.

There were loads of other things she'd rather be doing. Working for the Ministry had just been the most easily available one. Available in the sense that most people had expected it, and as Hermione tended to just go along with things that people expected from her, well, she'd accepted the offer. But Draco didn't need to know all of that. The good thing about truth serum was that it didn't force you to _elaborate._

"Do _you_ want to be working for the Ministry?"

"No," he said with a shrug. She half-expected that from Draco. At Hogwarts, he'd never really appealed to her as someone who wanted to spend the rest of his life working behind a desk. At least this was something they had in common. And something that was really really _awful_ because they were both vying for the same position that would put them at the head of the very establishment that they both loathed.

"If you don't like it, why are you working there?" he asked.

"I just wanted to help people," she replied.

"Fair enough."

She began running her finger around the rim of the glass.

"What about you? Why are you working there?"

"Certainly not for myself," he scoffed.

"But... but you told me that _you_ wanted to work at the Ministry," she said, confused.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, I did want to work at the Ministry."

"But not for yourself?"

"No. Not for myself."

She bit her lip in contemplation. He was like some fucking Chinese torture paradoxical... contradictory sort of... mess. He was clearly trying to hide something, but what? Who would he be working at the Ministry for that he wouldn't want to tell?

Oh god, how could she have forgotten! His father, duh. That seemed right. It had all the makings of a Malfoy family disaster. He probably didn't want to tell her because it would be embarassing to have to reveal something like that. To reveal that he'd started working at the Ministry so he could stab his father in the back. Whatever, she'd never really liked Lucius, and she'd long since known that his family was really really _fucked up._

"For... your father?" she clarified.

He looked away, said nothing. Okay then, problem solved. The mood was noticeably darker now, so she tried to change the subject.

"Who was the last person you went on a date with?" she asked, smiling. Probably some blonde, boobied stick that he met on a hot-phone-chatline. The type that advertised in the middle of the night with images of slutty girls in stilettos and clown make-up.

"Ms. Addly," he laughed.

WHAT? Hermione's stool crashed to the floor as she jumped out of her chair. Ms. Addly? THE Ms. Addly? Her 500 year old neighbor with the fruit cake fetish and a gabazillion cats that watched her soap operas with her?

"You're shitting me," she replied, completely flabbergasted.

"Nope. I took her out for dinner yesterday night," he said, as though that were absolutely normal. When clearly... it was not. She hopped up onto the counter and slid up beside him, pulling her feet up and tucking them beneath her.

"_My_ Ms. Addly?" she questioned.

"Yes, _your_ Ms. Addly-- but she's not a piece of meat you know," he chided jokngly. She laughed and swatted his shoulder. She would never have thought the day would come where Draco would lecture her about human rights before she could.

"Oh stuff it... why did you take her to dinner?"

"She's been very helpful these past few days. Did you know she gave me some fruit cake while I was waiting for you that one night? It was delicious," he reminisced. Hermione still couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"What did she help you with?" she pried.

"Keeping track of you," he shrugged, "Letting me know if you were planning on leaving town before our date. That sort of thing."

She'd considered doing that, but had gotten lazy at the last minute and then opted to get completely sloshed with Ginny instead. It was slightly flattering to hear that Draco cared that much. Also, slightly creepy. But moreso... flattering.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked him over. She'd never really thought about it, but he'd been so ridiculously persistent about having this date. Apparently to the point where he was hiring old women to do his spying for him.

"Why did you want this date so bad, Draco?" she asked.

His hesitance made her nervous. And made her realize that they were somehow far closer than she'd anticipated, their shoulders brushed up against each other, her knees bunched up against his thigh. She could feel the blood rushing through her head again.

Oh god. She just wanted to touch him.

"Why do you think?" he countered. He was staring again.

She let the silence hang in the air for a second, not sure if what she was about to ask would be appropriate or not.

"What-- do you _like_ me?" she asked, trying to sound lighthearted, but only succeeding in sounding eager.

"No."

Oooh, wow.

She had not seen that coming at all. That really would have been _loads_ funnier if she hadn't come to the realization just nanoseconds before he answered that she _wanted_ him to say yes. Her face contorted from a smile into a grimace.

She was so much more arrogant than she'd realized. What had she really expected him to say any ways? They'd had that one _stupid _fling back at Hogwarts. Well, not so much a fling as a relationship. And not so much a relationship as the greatest heartbreak she'd ever experienced. But she was dwelling on the past. She had to remind herself that they'd met for the first time in almost a decade just _days _ago. DAYS, for fuck's sake.

Oh god, maybe he'd thought this date would be strictly professional. Maybe he'd changed loads more than she'd ever imagined possible. Merlin, maybe he'd actually _wanted _to talk foreign policy and politics, and here she was, basically naked and basically on top of him with her boobs _this_ close to being in his face. She didn't know whether to feel angry or humiliated or confused. Wait. Probably confused. Why had she led herself on like that? She wanted to jump off the counter and apparate back to her flat with or without her clothes.

"Do you hate me?" she asked, her brow knit with confusion.

He laughed.

"No."

Well, that was sort of a relief. When she turned to look at him again, he was staring at her. Almost to the point of violation. She felt her breath catch in her throat. What was he waiting for? He'd just told her he didn't _like _her-- but he didn't _hate _her-- so what the hell else was left?! Oh fuck all that nonsense about gold ships and silver ships and fuckships and shitships and _friendships_.

The truth, the honest truth, was that she had never stopped thinking about him since Hogwarts. Never. Even when she'd been engaged to Ron, even when she'd been with Alessandro-- especially when she'd been with Alessandro. There was absolutely no one she'd been with where she hadn't thought of Draco and wondered if he would have kissed her the same way, or touched her the same way. Or just looked at her the same way. The way he was doing now that made her chest squeeze up and head want to explode like a pinata into thousands of thousands of pieces.

SO THERE. There it was. Out in the open blob of her brain, hovering around and fucking her neurons up. She didn't know whether to feel stupid that she'd ever felt this way, or angry that he didn't.

Ohh. Ooohooo. Wait. Holy shit. Or did he?

"Do you love me?" she suddenly asked.

He didn't reply. He just kept staring at her, sucking her breath out of her lungs, making her hands get all twitchy.

"Hermione--"

Oh god, what? _Hermione_? That wasn't a yes and that wasn't a no.

But holy shit, just the way he said her name made her stomach clench. She watched his hands move towards her arm, then pull back, then move forward again. Was Draco Malfoy _nervous_? When his fingers touched her skin, she immediately turned her face to look at him. She could feel them running up her arm, across her shoulders, up her neck and along her face. The entire time, she could hear his breaths coming out in little shallow hisses. Her mind went completely blank.

With her face cupped in his hands, his fingers tangled in her hair and his thumb hesitantly running across her lips, he moved his head down, down, down, until his forehead was rested against hers.

"I--I think I'm about to kiss you," he whispered, his brow knit in complete rigidity.

Good lord, this was what she'd been scared of. And this was what she'd wanted so badly since she first saw him standing there at her door. This was _everything._

She tilted her head and lifted her chin just the smallest fraction-- and his lips were brushing against hers. Then they were pressed against hers. Then they were crushed against hers, rubbing, squeezing, massaging, making her heart race and her hands shake like leaves. Merlin, he tasted and smelled and felt so exquisitely _perfect._ Stars, rainbows, tidal waves, earthquakes, fucking fireworks--everything collided behind her eyelids. All she saw was complete darkness. But god, the things she felt. She felt whole.

She got up on her knees, wrapped her arms around his neck, and without meaning to, pushed him backwards against the counter. He let out an 'oof' between his lips, but never stopped kissing her, never stopping running his hands down her arms and up to her face. She could feel his hand adventuring along her leg, up her thigh, beneath the towel.

This was what it was _supposed_ to feel like. This. Was. Everything.

"_Ahem_."

Oh COME ON.

Hermione slowly untangled her hands from Draco's hair as Draco helped them off of the counter. Trying to look as professional as possible, Hermione folded her arms across her chest and sat down on a chair, while Draco tightened the towel around his waist.

"Hello, _mother_," he icily sneered as he turned around.

Narcissa stood at the doorway, brow raised impossibly high and beyond the limitations of her pale alien face. She turned her chin up and slowly pulled her hands off of her hips.

"I was just on my way to the gardens," she said.

Well that was funny, because it was still pouring rain and Narcissa was wearing that slinky silver shower curtain excuse for a dress. Unless that ugly piece of shit transformed into a pair of overalls complete with poncho and galoshes and work gloves, Narcissa was definitely _not_ on her way to the garden.

"My apologies if I... interrupted anything," she grimaced, then turned and left-- completely opposite the direction of the garden. If Hermione hadn't been in just a towel and her underwear, she would have leapt over the counter and pulled Narcissa to the ground by her little monkey lemur face.

When she turned to look at Draco, he was nursing his forehead in one hand.

"I probably should have known that was coming," he said as he turned to her.

She laughed, then pulled her clothes off the mantle where she'd hung them to dry.

No, this was good. This was really good. It was _so _good that she wasn't even going to bother arguing with Draco about why it was good, because it was_... Just_. _That._ _Good_. Good that Narcissa had come in when she had. Good because she and Draco would not have stopped if she hadn't. Good because now Hermione didn't have to cry or drink or cry AND drink herself to sleep wondering how her life had fallen into such shambles.

"I should probably go," she said, hastily pulling on her pants beneath the towel. He nodded, knowing there was no use in arguing about this. The moment was lost. The entire romance of the Malfoy Manor-- just a memory. The thought of Malfoy Manor having ever been romantic? Pure fiction.

She pulled on her top, then her cardigan, and grabbed her purse from where she'd left it beneath her chair. Draco had changed back into his clothes too. His coat still looked a little wet, but he threw it over his arm any ways.

"Let me take you back," he said.

She nodded. They were going to have to talk about it sooner or later, and the front door of her flat was as good a place as any. She held out her hand, he took it, and they left Malfoy Manor with a BOOM.

xXx

* * *

Draco wasn't quite sure how he was going to do this.

"Thanks for dinner," she said. She was standing motionless at her front door. Just waiting for him to leave.

"Hermione, we should probably talk about this," he said. For once in his life, he was being rational. God, this woman made his head do all sorts of ridiculous things. If a date had ended like this with any other woman, he would have dropped her off at her front door and then run off to "answer" a "phone call" on his "phone".

She sighed and opened the door for him. Probably didn't want him getting Ms. Addly involved. He strode in, propped himself up against her kitchen counter with his hands in his pockets and his wet coat dampening his sleeve all over again.

"Okay Draco, the point of dinner was to prove that we've changed. And point proven. So... let's just get back to our normal lives again," she quickly got out, throwing her purse onto her couch.

She wasn't going to get out of this that easily. He scoffed and turned his body to watch her frantically move around the kitchen, pick things up, set things down, take out glasses and put them back into the cabinets. Good lord, she was more nervous than he was. She was probably doing that whole-- thinking too much thing again.

"No," he argued. If his math was right, which more than half of the time it wasn't, then the truth serum was still floating around in their bodies somewhere. "If you can look at me and tell me, honestly, that you don't want to see me again, then I'll leave."

Come on math. Come on math.

She glared at him as she opened her mouth to speak. Then shut it. AHA! Suck on that, calculus.

"I don't want to have to argue about this with you again," she groaned.

"Then don't. Just... come out to dinner with me again instead," he replied.

She shook her head and let out a little cry of frustration. That would have deterred him a few days ago, but not after today. Not after they'd almost-made-out nearly fifty times, then actually made-out all over his family's kitchen counter.

"Draco, this could end our careers," she argued. "If anybody saw us-- anybody-- we might as well say good-bye to that Minister position. The media would have a _field day_ with this."

"Then we'll just make sure nobody _sees _us," he replied, "Just _tell me_ if you don't want to go out to dinner again."

She began pounding her fists on her kitchen table. Then running her hands through her hair. The simple magic of it all was that she _couldn't_ say no because as much as she argued otherwise, she didn't _want _to.

"Fine!" she cried out, "But this is a completely stupid idea."

In his defense, he had never said it would be a _good_ idea. He pushed away from the counter, then winked at her before he opened the door.

"I'll owl you the time," he said. And in spite of how awful of an idea this all really was, he saw the slightest hint of a smile on her face before he left.

* * *

Author's Note: 5.29.08

Just one more chapter left to rewrite.


	5. This

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.

**This and Here**

**Chapter Five**

This

* * *

"He actually told you to warm him up?" Ginny asked skeptically.

Hermione ferociously stirred her coffee till it sloshed out the sides and all over the little café table. Draco was the _last_ thing she wanted to be thinking about. Draco, with his stupid ideas and his stupid house and his stupid mom and his stupid, stupid, stupid owls that crash dove into living rooms in giant fiery farty explosions. Oh, no problem, duh. Thank Merlin all she had to do was pay out the ass for carpet cleaners to come suck out the poo stains his flatulent owls had left all over her flat. Thank. Merlin.

Yes, he'd tried to get at her cooter with that line. And yes, she'd nearly let him have a whack at it. But she'd had a week to think about it. A week where every day Ms. Addly had dropped by with a fruit cake and her harem of cats, hoping to get Hermione all fattened up and weak so she could take Draco for herself. Ms. Addly could have Draco for all she cared.

Less than three hours ago, Draco had messaged her to tell her to be ready by six o'clock. Instead of spending those three hours getting ready, Hermione had spent those three hours complaining to Ginny over coffee about how unbelievably inconsiderate Draco had been. For all he'd known, she could have had some sort of gala to go to tonight. Maybe a ribbon-cutting ceremony. Or a danceathon. Whatever the case—she didn't like being hustled.

"I know, I know, it was _so_ stupid," she said, rolling her eyes.

Ginny shrugged. "Well, other than that, he sounded like he was acting…normal."

Oh, _normal_, right. If Draco Malfoy was normal, than Ron Weasley was the fucking Dalai Lama. Whose side was Ginny on, any ways? This was the man she was _running_ against. This was the man who'd told people to call her "Hermaphrodite" at Hogwarts. THIS was the man whose idea of a hot date was hanging out with his batshit crazy mother and eating grilled cheese sandwiches in his parents' kitchen.

Okay… so she was being a little critical. The date had been genuinely fun. But _another_ date was career-suicide. It was the stupidest thing they could be doing right now.

"Right… normal," she sneered in response to Ginny's remark.

"So do you like him?" Ginny asked, waggling her eyebrows as she leaned back in her chair.

"I don't know," she shrugged, then brought her cup to her mouth and tried to chug her coffee to distract herself. Ginny leaned across the table, right up in Hermione's face, and stared her down till she set the cup back on the table.

"Did you use the vanilla?" she asked.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Good thing Ginny had left that there. TO SABOTAGE HER.

"Thank goodness Draco's an idiot--he thought the vanilla smell was coming from the grilled cheese sandwiches," she said. And not from her boobs.

Ginny laughed so hard the salt and pepper shakers fell over. All right, it was just a _little_ bit funny, but that still didn't excuse Ginny for putting it on her counter like some sort of Pandora's Box of sex.

Ginny abruptly stopped laughing and sat up straight, her face contorted in disbelief.

"Well, if it makes it any better, _I_ think he's into you," she said.

What? Why was that so hard for Ginny to believe? Her face was all bunched up like some flabby dog butt. Hermione narrowed her eyes, leaned forward. Eugh, she didn't want to think about Draco being into anything but himself and his work.

"Why would you say that?" she asked.

Ginny pointed out the large window they were sitting next to.

"Well… for one thing--he's standing right there," she blurted out before she broke into laughter.

Holy shit, he _had_ to be kidding her.

Hermione turned her head as slowly as possible. And what the hell, Draco was just standing there, staring in through the window at them with his face pressed up against the glass and waving his hand-- JUST in case they hadn't seen him.

"Oh my god, Ginny, oh my god. Tell me that that is not Draco fucking Malfoy with his little face pressed up against the window like some… little creep," she said, jerking her head back around and putting her hand up to block her face.

"No it's not..." she reassured Hermione.

"It's not?" she countered, confused, because she'd sworn that was Draco--

"...because now he's walking in."

Hermione turned around just in time to see him saunter in. Oh good lord, was he wearing a man cardigan? A mardigan?

And was he actually pulling it off?

Draco strolled up to their table, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans, sleeves of his black cardigan rolled up to his elbows, v-neck white shirt beneath… she had never seen him look so—so casual. And yes, he was fairly lanky, but she could see every sinewy muscle in his forearms in a good, mouth-drying way. Oh god, she was ogling him. She quickly turned her head away, only to meet Ginny's probing gaze.

"Hello, Ginny," he said, completely oblivious.

Ginny awkwardly snorted, and completely turned her body towards the window, pretending to read license plates on cars and giant bus billboards. Oh, thank god for Ginny or else Hermione might have had to handle this on her own. Not.

Had they collided in a pub in Diagon Alley, Hermione would have died from the embarrassment. But no, thankfully they were in a muggle café where no one recognized them.

"Draco, what are you doing here?" she hissed, not trying to think about how sharply dressed he was and how the muscles in his arms did all sorts of flexy things when he gestured.

"Ms. Addly told me that you'd probably be here," he said with a shrug, "And I've come to tell you that there's been a change of plans."

Oh god this was what she'd been praying for. Hopefully there was some sort family emergency—Narcissa was trapped in a well. Or a barn fire. Or she'd finally teleported back to whatever alien planet she'd come from where everyone's face was taut enough to bounce spare change off of.

"We're leaving at a quarter till six, instead of at six o' clock."

Bullocks. No, they certainly were _not_. Hermione got out of her chair and jabbed a finger into his chest.

"That's funny," she said, "Because I haven't even _started_ getting ready yet."

Draco tilted his head. He smiled at her in that way that made her stomach tighten and her throat clench up. So what if she'd lied to Ginny a little and had actually _not_ worn this navy blue wrap dress because she'd just felt like it?

"Don't be ridiculous. You look beautiful," he argued.

Really? Well in that case… She could feel herself growing light-headed and her body rising out of the seat—but then she saw Ginny from the corner of her eye, sniggering into her sleeve.

Nice try, Draco, she wasn't going to give in that easily.

"I'm not leaving until I'm done with my coffee," she said, but as if on cue, that harlot no-good assbucket Ginny casually reached across the table and smacked the cup of coffee over. Hermione's jaw dropped. _Traitortraitortraitor_.

"Oh, would you look at that," Ginny said, suppressing a smile as she lazily leaned back in her chair and pretended to read the stupid little quote on the back of her tea packet. Hermione contemplated chopping the table in half and using the shards to pummel Ginny as punishment for her treachery, but she didn't have that sort of upper body strength. Hermione slowly got out of her seat, her eyes so narrow she was fairly certain they'd closed at one point.

Ginny smiled, then waved, "You kids have fun." And as soon as Draco turned his back, Ginny had the gall to shoot Hermione the thumbs-up sign. When Hermione was done with this date, she was going to send _so _many howlers to Ginny's house that everyone from her great-grandchildren to her cousins thrice-removed would be deaf.

Draco looked all too pleased with himself as he escorted Hermione out.

xXx

* * *

The list of places they _could_ _not_ go was endless. Public restaurants—definitely not. Pubs, bars, clubs, cafes—no way. Playgrounds, parks, libraries—not even. And certainly, without a doubt out of the question, brothels or street corners.

_Particularly_ street corners like those in Diagon Alley.

It had been a horrible idea to try and navigate it at this time of day. Before they could even step foot onto the main street, handfuls of half-naked wizards with newspaper clothes that had been scrounging in the alleyways recognized them from their clothing. Draco never thought the day would come where he would see a picture of himself being used to cover someone else's ass.

Hermione had been less than amused by the whole ordeal, as she'd had to use her purse to buffet off the homeless wizards while Draco had weaved in and out of them from fear of getting lice and whatever old-man diseases they had crawling all over them. Realizing how ridiculous they were being, he'd finally grabbed her hand and apparated out of the alleyway.

"What the hell are we doing here?" Hermione immediately demanded when they landed in front of the Shrieking Shack with a BOOM.

Oh, like she couldn't figure it out for herself. This dilapidated piece of crap was _made_ for the secret rendezvous. It was absolutely isolated, deserted, and private. If they wanted to go somewhere where people couldn't recognize them-- it was here. Because there were no people here. Only their dead bodies and their ghosts.

"Hermione--look. Nobody's around to bother us, it's completely deserted, and best of all--it's private," he explained, "And don't worry, I was here earlier setting things up. It's solid as a rock."

He rapped the side of the house to demonstrate. Probably not the best idea. A shingle from the roof fell down and clattered to the floor beside them. Ah damn it.

"That was there when we got here," he quickly bit out, then grabbed her hand before she could protest and led her inside.

So... the Shrieking Shack wasn't exactly a _palace_. Cobwebs hung from every picture frame, chandelier, banister and corner and dust coated every surface. There were gaping holes in the walls and cracks in the ceiling where light from the setting sun streamed in. Despite all these structural abominations, Draco had managed to find a room uninhabited by feral wildlife that he'd mopped and dusted and cleaned as best he could. And that was saying _a lot_ because Draco was not accustomed to cleaning up messes.

After scrubbing away for what felt like days, the room that had once smelled like butt and looked structurally insecure now _sort of _glistened and gleamed and_ sort of_ smelled better.

Regardless, Hermione smiled when she saw it, and that was proof enough that he'd done a good job.

On the floor, he'd laid out a plaid quilt. There were plates of fresh fruit, cheese and crackers, and the centerpiece-- a ham that he'd labored over for a good three hundred hours. Hovering around them were at least fifteen candles, which Draco was praying would not explode the room. He'd used so many chemicals that even now, several hours later, he was pretty sure his brain cells were still keeled over in agony.

"Draco," she said, taking a seat on the quilt, "This actually looks... nice."

Damn right it looked nice. He took a seat beside her on the quilt to admire his handiwork. It had occurred to him as he'd been setting up the room earlier that he could actually _do_ things if he put his mind to it.

"Wine?" he offered. She shook her head. Ugh, fine.

He pulled two bottles of water out of the basket and tossed one to her. Sure, it'd be all fun and games if the _two _of them were to get completely sloshed and naked and go streaking around the Shrieking Shack. But it wouldn't be any fun at all if it was just Draco, flailing around an empty bottle of wine while Hermione monitored him from fifty feet away to make sure he didn't get his dick stuck anywhere incriminating.

"You brought water?" she asked, surprised.

He was a little surprised himself, actually. He'd just assumed Hermione would want water after their wine debacle last time. It was sort of satisfying—this whole… putting other people's needs before his own.

"I know you a lot better than you give me credit for."

She scoffed and took a long sip of the water as he began to carve the ham.

"You're always so pessimistic, Hermione," he said as placed the slices of ham on the plates he'd brought. Then, with a spoon, he ladled some of the sauce that the ham had been doused in over the slices on the plates. It was oh-so necessary that she try the sauce.

"I am not," she protested, taking the plate and silverware when he handed it to her.

"Oh--okay. If you say so," he shrugged.

"What? I'm not!"

He shrugged again, sliced his ham into smaller pieces to distract himself. She was probably glaring at him. He quickly glanced up at her. Yup. Staring holes _right_ into his head.

"What would _you _call it then?" he asked, taking a bite.

"Call what?"

And now she was refusing to look at him, meticulously dicing her ham into perfect little squares, then color-coding them, size-coding them, taste-coding them.

"You're always so nervous all the time," he tried to explain, "You should just ride things out. Consider doing things just _because._"

She swallowed her bite of ham, narrowed her eyes. What? What did he say this time?

"You're just talking about _this_, aren't you?"

"_This_ what?"

"_This_," she said, pointing to him, then pointing to herself, then frantically waving back and forth with her finger.

"So _that's_ what we're called," he faded off, putting another square of ham into his mouth, "What if I am?"

She looked unpleased. But at least she was done with her plate. Good god, she'd just hoovered that, and he hadn't even noticed because he'd been concentrating so hard on trying to look as calm as possible. Remarkably enough, she hadn't said a word about the way the sauce had tasted.

"We can't just _ride _this out," she bit out harshly.

"Right, right-- the Minister position, got it," he said, "If you could, though-- all Ministry problems, all work problems, all _life _problems aside-- would you want to?"

She shook her head, "I'm not going to answer that question, Draco."

He'd pushed his plate aside and tried to distract himself by throwing all the squishy grapes out the open window in front of them. Chucking them, really.

"Why?" he asked, never moving his eyes from the window.

"Draco-- whatever I say won't even matter. You're just going to argue with me until I say what you want to hear. And then, once you hear it, you'll never let down about _this_," she replied, intently watching him catapult fruit, "Because I know what _you _want me to say, and it's not the same as what _I _want to say."

Even though he knew half the time she was just saying what she felt she was _supposed_ to say rather than what she _wanted_ to say, it always stung a little to hear her talk about whatever-they-were like it wasn't anything at all. He'd thought that their game of twenty questions back at Malfoy Manor would have changed her mind, but it had apparently just made her more resilient.

The awkward silence was just a little too much for her.

"Just tell me what you want," she finally said.

"I want to keep seeing you," he said, very conclusively.

"Draco, okay, I _get _that... but with the lifestyles we lead-- you and I both know that that's just not possible," she argued.

Draco glanced at her as he threw one last grape out the window. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out for a while.

All right. Here it was. Do or die. And it wasn't like she hadn't figured it out already. He'd practically stalked her to that cafe. Then he'd just stood there outside her window, _leering_ at her because he'd realized at the last minute that he undoubtedly looked absolutely insane, standing there like some sort of skeezy old homeless man. For fuck's sake, he had foresight too. He just didn't care very much to use it.

"I'd give it up for you, you know," he finally blurted out.

As soon as it was out in the air, he immediately regretted it. Was this fear making his hands turn numb? He'd always thought Malfoys were immune to fairy-tale _emotions_ like that. Shit, just look at his parents. They used to make people wet their pants just by looking at them. He'd bet anything that Lucius hadn't even been scared when the Ministry had burst into the Manor to come arrest him. He'd probably just been belligerent, what with all the Ministry agents trampling around the lawn, stomping up Narcissa's rosebushes.

Oh wait. False alarm. His hands had just fallen asleep beneath his head.

He sat back upright and turned to look at Hermione, who was staring out the window.

"Why do you say things like that?" she said, clearly angry.

"What? Things like--oh-- the truth?" he countered, getting a little angry himself now that she was all up in arms.

"Ugh! No! Stupid things like that--'Oh, I'd give it up for you'," she mimicked, turning to look at him.

"And what? You have _such _a hard time believing that?"

Hermione abruptly stood up, grabbed her purse off the ground. She was apparently leaving. Well... that wouldn't exactly work with his plan. He jumped up and cleared the space between them in a few steps.

"Why can't you believe that?" he asked again.

She threw her purse back to the ground again, knocking over a plate of cheese and crackers. Whatever. He'd bought those pre-made at the store any ways.

"We just met two weeks ago, Draco," she said, very slowly, very menacingly, "And now you're trying to feed me all these lines about... GOD-- giving your life up for me? How do you expect me to believe that, Draco? How?!"

She swatted him away from her and tried to grab her purse from the floor again. He picked it up before she could and held it rigidly in one hand while he held up the other in front of him.

"You want to know how I expect you to believe me?" he asked.

"Give me my purse back!" she shouted at him. But she began to calm down because it was evident that he was _not_ going to give the purse back otherwise.

"Do you want to know how I expect you... to believe me?" he asked again, much slower this time.

She cradled her forehead in her hand, shook her head and turned away from him.

"We didn't meet just _two weeks ago_," he sneered.

He had her attention now. She was turning her head back to look at him, and good god, he could swear he saw tears rimming her eyes. Well, damnit, he hadn't wanted to make her cry. Maybe if she'd had better control of her emotions like he had--who the hell was he kidding? He was just about to spill his guts out to her. Actually, not even _just about to_. Right now. Right. Now.

"Hermione," he managed to raggedly get out, "We met _sixteen years ago._"

She was calmed down now, her chest heaving only a little, and thank the lord, she wasn't crying. She was just staring at him with her red eyes and her knit brow and her hands slack at her sides.

He took a step towards her. She didn't move. He stepped even closer, until his feet were next to hers, his face right by hers, her breath brushing against his collarbone. She didn't move. He took one of her balled up fists in his own hand. She still didn't move. Then, he pulled her fingers open one by one until her palm was splayed out in front of her. He placed the purse in her hand.

And she let it slide off onto the floor with a thump. His heartbeat boomed through his ears.

"I _held _you for the first time nine years ago," he hoarsely whispered.

She looked up at him.

"I _kissed _you for the first time nine years ago."

He pressed his forehead to hers, rubbed his nose along the side of hers.

Why was he doing this? Why was he saying this? He was scaring the shit out of himself. He was probably scaring the shit out of her too. He felt his chest compress, just being so close to her all over again. Yeah, she was right, this could end horribly. They could lose their jobs. They could lose everything they'd ever worked for. But he had a secret. Everything he'd worked for was right here, right in front of him. And well, fuck it if he didn't at least _give it a try_.

"I _fell in love_ with you nine years ago."

xXx

* * *

Hermione had never felt so distraught in her life.

The entire reason she _didn't_ want Draco like this, his lips just inches from her own, putting all these stupid ideas into her head, was because it was so incredibly hard _not _to believe him. But she had already established that _this_ was impossible. So long as they were both working at the Ministry, _this _could never exist.

She'd tried so hard to deter him, to try and twist every little gesture he did or word he said into something scathing and insulting. Into something that would actually make her think that this was impossible because if this actually _was_ impossible, then she wouldn't have to tear apart her insides knowing that she'd given up on something that _had been_ very very possible.

They were in the Shrieking Shack, for fuck's sake. How could any of this feel romantic, when spiders were crawling down her asscrack and cobwebs were clinging to her face? And yet, it did. Despite the ghost and wild animal rumors, it was romantic--and that wasn't even the scariest part--the scariest part of all was the fact that everything about the Shrieking Shack should have been working against _this_, making it feel wrong. But instead, it felt unbelievably _right. _

So what was she supposed to do? Just give up at the Ministry? God, she just needed a reason to _not_ trust him, and she would be able to get back to her life again. Her life before all of _this_.

But Draco had just told her that he loved her.

_And it had felt so right_. She needed _this_. She needed him. He'd asked her what she would have done if there'd been no Ministry. No work. No problems. She would have done this.

She took Draco's face in her hands, and kissed him.

As soon as she touched him, put her lips against his, he was wrapping her arms around his body, tangling his hands in her hair, tugging at her jacket till it dropped to the ground. She hastily unbuttoned his cardigan and he slid it down one arm so that it hung sloppily from the other. She didn't even know what to pull at to get enough of him. She'd never felt so _needy_ before.

She felt her back press up against the wall, felt him run his hand down her thigh and hoist her leg around his waist. She tilted her head back just for a second, just to take a gasp of air and immediately he began to kiss her neck, suck, bite, nip, then suck some more. He gasped when she aggressively petted the bulge at his crotch.

Oh god. That gasp reeled her back to reality. What was she doing? This was so incredibly wrong. And right. And wrongright. The Ministry. She couldn't forget about the Ministry.

"Draco," she panted, pushing him away.

"What? Did I hurt you-- are you okay?" he frantically asked, coming towards her again.

She shook her head and gestured for him to keep away from her.

"Draco, we can't do this," she harshly said.

He stared at her, flabbergasted. She hated being the level-headed one.

"You know why!" she shouted. His disbelief quickly turned to frustration.

"We _can_ do this, Hermione! We _were_ just doing it!" he yelled back, shrugging his cardigan back on.

"No-- I should never have done that. That was a _bad_ idea. God! Draco-- we can't just forget about the Ministry!"

Draco pointed towards the door, in the general direction of reality.

"For fuck's sake, Hermione! Forget--about--the Ministry!"

AGH. Didn't he realize that if she could, she would? She had tried so hard to forget about it, but she'd already built so much of her life upon it-- how could she just _forget_ about that?

"Just tell me one thing, okay? Do you love me?" he said. Practically pleaded.

She could feel her face contorting, struggling to keep stony because what she was about to say was clearly so incredibly _wrong_. But it was the only solution she saw. There was no point in dragging this out.

_No. One hundred thousand times no.  
_

"Yes."

Holy shit.

She tried to say it again.

_No._

"Yes."

_NO!_

"Yes."

Oh god. Had she had a concussion? Was she suffering from some sort of brain problem right now? Why couldn't she tell him 'no'? This was bad. This was more than bad. She was telling him exactly what he wanted to hear--

Realization dawned on her as she remembered the slightly cherry taste of the ham sauce. She'd thought that he'd just used some sort of... fruity, vanilla-y sauce. Vanilla sauce for a _ham?_ SHIT. How had she been so stupid?

"YOU!" she cried, pointing at him accusingly, "You put truth serum on the ham?!"

"What?!" he shouted back, "So what if I did?"

She felt naked. And vulnerable. And betrayed one hundred times over.

"How could you?!"

"Hermione--are you kidding me?"

She pointed to her face, which was suddenly very, very, deadly serious.

"Does this look like I'm kidding you?" she hissed.

With his brow knit in a mixture of anger and frustration, he rubbed the back of his neck, and eyed her down.

"You wouldn't have been brave enough to be honest with me otherwise," he sneered.

That was the _worst_ thing he could have said. She had never felt so completely betrayed and defenseless in her life.

But that was good. That meant she had a reason to not trust him, and if she couldn't trust him, then _this_ was not possible. And if _this_ was not possible, then... then all these feelings, all these distractions-- couldn't possibly be real. _This was not real love_. _This_ was over.

That didn't mean that it didn't hurt any less to be manipulated like that. She was torn between complete fury and complete depression, but instead of throwing a tantrum or running off to cry, she marched up to Draco.

"Don't contact me ever again," she harshly whispered. Then pulled her hand back and slapped him across the face.

After she'd gotten a fair distance away from the Shrieking Shack, she let out a slow, slow breath. It made her sick to the stomach, thinking about what she'd wanted to tell him. She'd wanted to tell him that she never wanted to see him again. But with the truth serum still working its way through her body, she wouldn't have been able to lie to him like that.

* * *

Author's note: 5.31.08

LAST. CHAPTER. DONE. BEING. REWRITTEN. So... that's good. Enjoy.


	6. Recuperating

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the book series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.

**This and Here  
**

**Chapter Six**

Recuperating

* * *

Hermione was in no mood for rain; particularly rain on a Monday that followed a Sunday that followed a Saturday that followed the Friday of the worst seduction of a woman in all of magical history.

She should have known better than to step foot into that dilapidated shack, with its gaping holes that leaked rat feces and its staircases that harbored thousands of vermin and their various, sordid diseases. She could have caught a horrible mutated Ebola virus that traveled by way of stupidity, because jeez, Draco certainly had enough stupid to go around.

The highlight of the evening had been the ham that had been doused with truth serum in that careless manner that a cub scout douses the entire campsite with lighter fluid in his eagerness to start his first fire. The stupid moron had ruined her life. No matter how hard she had tried to rinse her mouth with chocolate ice cream and vodka, she could still taste the ham, the wine, and oh God, even him. She gagged, much to the surprise of the newspaper street vendor she passed on her way to the telephone booth. Normally, Hermione would have apologized, but the vendor was a man, and his genitalia had marked him forever as being part of Draco's legion of bigheaded freaks that had doomed humanity since their escape from the wombs.

She clutched her purse to her chest as the lift in the phone booth shot downwards. Down, down, down, all the way to the Atrium that was sparsely populated at this God-awful hour of day. No one was there, or at least, no one had better be there. She hadn't pulled herself out of bed at three in the morning to share witty banter over coffee with other people. Sure, she looked hot, but that was in preparation for the highly rare likelihood that Draco would also be arriving early, with the sole intention of avoiding her, much as she was doing. At that. Exact. Moment.

Ding.

The doors slid open and with a deep sigh of relief, Hermione click-clacked out of the elevator and onto the cool marble floor of the Atrium. Hardly a soul in sight. Not wanting to test her luck, she made a beeline for the only two lifts working at four in the morning—one of which was occupied, leaving her with the elevator to the far right of the room.

She was going through a considerable amount of trouble to avoid Draco, but she promised herself it would be worth it, once she was sitting in that nice, plush leather chair of the office of the Minister of Magic. Then, she would send Draco a letter dismissing him from the Ministry, with a few brief words of condolence, a fruit basket, and a card that would read 'Best Regards from the Minister, no hard feelings, thanks for trying'. And that would be that.

It was as she was lying on the floor of her bathroom, after having substituted the tub for a bed, and also after realizing her toilet was not a Pensieve, that she finally realized how stupid she'd been. Draco Malfoy, of all people, was not someone worth risking her entire career over. Sure, he was pretty damn attractive, and sure, at times he could be quite charming, but for the most part, his constant habit of thinking with his penis had knocked him out of the running. Thus, Hermione found herself less than a foot away from one of the lifts of the Ministry, before the crack of dawn, with the imprudent idea that she could do this every day and successfully avoid Draco Malfoy for the rest of eternity.

Then, whoosh, a slight breeze as the main lift burst open again, and the sound of a man's footsteps as he made his way quickly across the room.

Hermione should have done a lot of things at the moment. Rushed into the elevator and closed the door, opted for the stairs instead, or simply taken a few steps to the left and pretended to be busy looking through her purse. But no, things never worked out that well, and she found herself staring Draco directly in the eyes.

Oh, Merlin's Beard, she almost threw up in her mouth.

"Could you hold that?" he bellowed, obviously unaware of how high the tension had suddenly risen. No smile, no frown, just an expression of nonchalance that was so offensive, Hermione found herself gaping.

Did he honestly not realize how much she despised him at this very moment? How much she wanted to smack him, then tip his head back, pour truth serum down his throat, and scream "How do you like that, you barmy git!"? Her anger suddenly shot up, out her ears, and rained heavily upon the ground.

Without a second thought, she proudly strode into the elevator and pushed the 'close doors' button, her arms folded across her chest in warning. The doors began to slide shut, but sensing the direness of his situation, Draco lunged forward and threw his briefcase between them. As the doors slid back open, he stepped onto the entryway, eyes gleaming with anger.

"I thought they taught you the difference between 'open' and 'close' in grade school, Granger," he nearly shouted as they warily eyed one another.

Pft. She'd had an exceptional primary school education, probably better than any bull and cock pureblood wizard preparatory school education he had received. While she'd been learning her alphabet, he had probably been learning five quick and easy ways to be a complete ass. A definite plus with the ladies.

She hadn't expected this out of their first confrontation since the most disastrous date ever. He had just crossed a line. No, he'd done more than that. He'd done the Mexican Hat Dance on the line, shat on it, and left it to die in his waste, with a casualness so characteristic of himself that she couldn't remember why she'd been so surprised in the first place.

"Get out of my lift," she hissed between clenched teeth.

He cocked a brow, gave her the one-over. And had the gall to grin.

"What, Granger? No good-bye kiss?"

And then something inside of her snapped. She had had enough of his cheeky comments, his roving stares, his constant neediness—God, WHY. COULDN'T. HE. TAKE. A. HINT?

She pulled her arm back, then swung her purse with all her might straight into his face. With a scream that sounded like a demented siren about to die, he reeled backwards, hands clutching his face as a geyser of blood burst forth. Hermione pushed the 'close doors button', then stepped into the center of the lift, watching him point at her accusingly as the doors slid shut.

"You crazy—"

She didn't hear the rest. The lift began moving, slowly, but surely, and Hermione couldn't have felt better. His nose was something any healing charm could easily fix. The stupid, big, fat, ugly baby. She simply couldn't understand how he could act so… so… cool about the entire situation. As if Friday evening had gone fabulously and there was nothing to complain about afterwards.

Had he gotten temporary amnesia over the weekend and completely forgotten how horrendous the date had gone? How she'd fled, screaming like a banshee because she'd spilled her guts to the one man she'd been trying to avoid since Hogwarts?

Or was he really just _that_ stupid.

Hm. Right. Sometimes, he really _was_ just _that_ stupid.

Still, that was no excuse for his highly inappropriate behavior. Though she'd turned off her phone, her computer, her television, locked her windows and doors to keep the owls out, and essentially cut herself off from the rest of civilization, if he had _really_ wanted to contact her, he would have succeeded.

The elevator slowed down as it reached the next floor with a faint 'ding'.

When the doors slid open, Hermione nearly choked to death on her saliva. Draco lurched in, hair tousled, jacket slightly rumpled, and tie held to his face. He turned to look at her as best he could with his head tilted back at that strange angle, and dropped his briefcase on the ground.

"BITCH!" he finished.

xXx

* * *

That witch—that delusional, completely mental witch—had nanoseconds ago, split a chasm across his perfectly constructed and moisturized face, resulting in an explosion of red liquid unseen of since the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. Hermione had either generated steel balls overnight or had harvested and grown an intense hatred for him in a matter of days. Which was hardly understandable, considering the outcome of the date. God, he'd finally gotten her to confess her undying love for him, and here she was, going completely mental on his ass.

He had tried to call her several times, 'call' being the most important part, since he despised using muggle technology as much as he denied it in public. It all just seemed so prehistoric. Why use a clunky piece of machinery when there were perfectly capable owls flying all over the place? After all his efforts, he'd gotten no response.

So, he did the next best thing, and forgot about it, until several seconds ago when he stepped into the main lobby, completely not expecting Hermione to be waiting there for him. And yes, of course she was waiting, because what person in their right mind came this early to work, if not for an important meeting to attend to? Much like he was doing. Meeting his secretary's boss in the coffee lounge, for coffee. And a one-sided conversation.

Bah, so what if he had gotten to the office early to avoid accidentally bumping into her? Apparently, she was doing the same thing. Awkward.

She also apparently touted steel titanium about in her purse for situations that would require her to viciously attack completely innocent bystanders—such as himself.

He quickly undid his tie and placed it against his nose, temporarily stopping the bleeding so that he could sprint to the nearest stairwell and bound to the next floor. If that woman thought she could escape him after marring the most flawless part of his body—she was doomed. He lithely made his way there in record time and slammed his shoulder into the elevator call button as he slid out of the staircase.

He had only ruined their date, but she had ruined his entire face. He would have snarled at the thought, but snarling only aggravated the wound and he was already bleeding enough to sustain a small population of vampire bats. When the elevator reached his floor and the doors slid open, he stumbled in, eyes gleaming with hatred.

After releasing the 'BITCH' he had been holding in since the Atrium, he picked up his suitcase, tried to adjust his collar as best he could, and glared at her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he shouted as he held his nose up towards the ceiling, "What do you carry in that briefcase? Gold bars? Tiny elephants? Several small Chinese acrobats, perhaps?"

His shoulders quaked as he bit down his anger. Her brow was furrowed and her arms were crossed defiantly across her chest. She was obviously not impressed.

"Oh! So this is my fault, is it? Forgive me Granger, for using your arm to hit myself in the face with your suitcase," he continued. His frustration was beginning to boil over again.

Draco had spent his weekend deliberating over a means of contacting her, aside from the highly overrated telephone, without leaving behind evidence for a restraining order. His only brilliant idea had been to use polyjuice potion and masquerade as one of her obnoxiously virtuous companions—but the thought of being Pothead or Weasel was too revolting—and there was simply no way he would transform herself into that Ginny woman because the responsibility of having breasts frightened him.

Yet, she hardly cared. Well, it wasn't as though she could possibly know how much work he'd put into masterminding brilliant schemes to capture her attention, but God, the least she could have done was not smack him in the face and break it into two pieces.

Hermione seemed completely unmoved by his remarks, which irked him even further.

"The silent treatment. I suppose this is just another example of that maturity you like to talk about so much—" he stopped as the doors slid open and Hermione walked out, "All right, fine, run off—you've got an awfully strong knack for it any ways! Is that another one of the skills you write about on your resume?—"Hermione Granger, highly mature and extraordinarily adept at efficiently using lower appendages to avoid difficult situations…"

She pivoted on her heel and angrily grabbed at the elevator doors, pushing them open as she leaned in.

"So help me, Draco. I am not going to even bother explaining how—how much I absolutely _hate_ you at this very moment," she hissed threateningly between clenched teeth.

Great—sweet—mother of—what had he gotten himself into? His anger and confusion fled to go cower in the corner. The bastards! He couldn't blame them though; she looked like a banshee with her hair flying around her head like that and her teeth grit so tight he could hear them rubbing against one another.

Her hand was suddenly at his collar, pulling him down so he could look at her at eye-level. Oh God, he was too beautiful to die like this!

"I do not _ever_ want to see you again outside of this Ministry," she snarled. "From now on, we are co-workers, nothing else. If you want to talk to me, you send me a memo. If you abuse this privilege I am allowing you, I will take your memo, walk down to your office, and shove it straight up your—"

Hey now, she was getting a little too aggressive for his tastes.

"Isn't that a little harsh, Granger? What's wrong with a friendly conversation in the hallways every now and then?" he queried.

"We are not friends," she bit back, "therefore, we do not have friendly conversations."

And with that, she turned around and stormed down the hall, leaving a line of fire in her wake. Draco reached up to pat his neck to make sure it was still there, then released a heavy sigh of relief. With his rage now long gone, he settled for determination instead. What ever he did wrong, he would figure it out Then he would fix it. Then he would move on to woo Hermione back with his incredible good looks and sharp wit.

For now he had certain matters to tend to. Like the geyser of blood spouting from his nose.

xXx

* * *

She had been stupid to think she was safe. That he would have really taken her warnings into consideration. That Draco, Draco _Malfoy_, would think about someone else for a change.

But alas, she was dealing with a man who had a brain the size of a cashew, and the ungainly ego the size of a small planet. So the lavender airplane that had seconds ago, landed in her lap, was not too unexpected.

She set down her quill and leaned back in her chair. Really, she should have just thrown it into the fireplace, ended the debacle then and there, severed all ties with Draco to demonstrate just how serious she was about this. No more conversations in the coffee lounge, no more hunting her around her apartment complex, no more late night conversations over a nice bottle of wine, chased by a glass of truth serum. The end. Finito. Enough of this.

Yet she couldn't deny that squirming inkling of hope, that maybe something good could come out of it all. Because it had worked at Hogwarts. So maybe it could work now.

Her fingers shook a little, much to her dismay, as she carefully unfolded the plane. The penmanship registered before the words, and she found herself wondering at what point she had inventoried his handwriting into her head. At what point she'd forced herself to remember that he never dotted his 'i's, and very rarely crossed his 't's, so be _very _careful when translating. When had she gotten so used to him?

_To Whom It May Concern: Highly important business matter regarding highly important business things that need to be discussed. Right now. -Mr. Malfoy._

Oh God, what a moron.

She crumpled up the airplane, tossed it into her wastebasket, and realized that she'd already made the decision in her head about five years ago. Of course she was going to go, because he was Draco and she was Hermione, and as much as she found it unconventional, fate had already deemed it inevitable. One way or another, she was going to end up outside his office door. That didn't necessarily mean that she would accept whatever offer he had for her, but it did mean that she would at least go see him. Things always ended up that way. Them, face to face, at the oddest of locations.

The vendetta from this morning slipped her mind, as did the events of the past forty-eight hours. No more afterthoughts about vodka and chocolate ice cream, ham and wine. Just a lot of jumbled up thoughts that all seemed so completely irrelevant that none of them could get the time of day to speak up and change her mind. Her legs were already carrying her to the door, and though something inside of her was protesting, a larger something was smothering it.

She kept telling herself that all he wanted to do was talk. All the way down the hall, into the lift, and up to the 'ding' of the elevator as it deposited her on his floor. It was with this single thought crowding her mind, blurring her vision, temporarily handicapping her, that she collided head on with a wall.

Oh God, she hoped it was a wall, though she could tell that it was a man by the fact he reached out two arms to steady her. And oh God, she hoped it wasn't who she thought it was because this would be the worst of ways to bump into him.

"Hermione?"

She looked up, surprised, because that voice sounded somewhat familiar, yet not at all.

Blue eyes, brown hair, rather strong build. Who in the world was this—

"It's Adrian. Adrian Pucey," he said with a smile.

Adrian had been a chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team, which would explain what he had been doing loitering outside Draco's office. Probably catching up on old times, sharing a laugh over a firewhiskey, slapping each other on the back and boxing each other in the shoulder—typical pointless manly displays of affection.

He looked a lot different than she remembered, and was much more friendly, too. And quite good-looking. She had only really talked to him once, when she'd had to tutor him because of his low marks, and her incredibly high ones. It had been after her and Draco's little stint, so he was rather defensive at first. Then, after much coaxing and arguing on her part, he decided to stop calling her 'Hermaphrodite', because that was not really her name, and he had had the gall to pretend that for the past six years, he'd sworn that he'd heard everyone calling her that.

But that had been the last she'd seen of him.

"Of course! Adrian. How have you been?" she asked, all giggles and smiles. He was much nicer now, much more approachable. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes made it seem like he'd been laughing since day one of his existence. That you could say anything awkward, and he would make it un-awkward with a quick chuckle that would charm the hatred out of you. Which was pretty much what he was doing right now. Charming her till her toes curled in her black pumps with girly amusement.

"I've been good—playing professional Quidditch now." Ah, that would explain the muscular build, tanned skin, overall amicable personality. The more she stayed in his presence, the more she was falling head over heels in love with him. Like the puppy that barks at you and only you so you think you're the most special human being in the world. "I'm on break, so I thought I'd drop by, see how Draco's been doing."

"Oh." Fraternizing with the enemy. Tsk, tsk, that would do no good. She frowned a little, but Adrian didn't seem to notice.

"We were just talking about you."

She froze, forced a smile and another 'oh'. She had nearly forgotten why she'd come down here in the first place. Well, screw that reason. Now she had a new one. As soon as she finished talking to Adrian, she was going to murder Draco.

"About the Minister of Magic position."

She mentally heaved a sigh of relief, laughed politely and innocently shrugged her shoulders. Oh right, that entire Minister of Magic thing. It'd nearly slipped her mind. Her hatred for Draco slowly slithered back to its hole, waiting for the next perfect opportunity to lash out.

"What can I say? It'll be a tough race," she replied.

Adrian laughed, sending her head spinning with joy.

"Haha, don't tell Draco I said this, but I think you're better suited for the job," he said. Oh God, it was like he was reading her mind, figuring out just what to say to make her like him more. "He wasn't exactly the most responsible captain back at Hogwarts."

Bingo. That comment hit the spot. She smiled, an honest smile. The conversation carried on in the same manner for a few more minutes. They shared condensed histories, brief summaries of their careers so far, a few clever jokes here and there. Overall, perfect conversation.

Adrian looked at his watch, brow raised with surprise. Apparently, someone was running a little late.

"This might seem a little out of the blue, but I'm only here for a few more days. I was hoping we could catch up some more, over dinner?"

He asked it so casually, like it was a normal question to ask. Like he could ask a fat limbless, headless torso the same exact question without the least bit of hesitation. And the torso would probably say yes, because Hermione was saying yes, and Hermione rarely said 'yes' to dinner with a somewhat stranger.

He nodded, smiled, leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, once again like it was no big deal, even though she was pretty sure her heart had just exploded and soon she would be dead from lack of blood flow.

"It was good seeing you again, Hermione," he said before he quickly raced down the hall to the elevator.

She smiled through her daze, touched her cheek.

"How romantic," Draco said, slicing through her daze with his machete of idiocy. She inhaled sharply.

He was leaning against the doorframe of his office, arms folded across his chest, smiling like a little child. His nose was much better now, and his clothes no longer tousled. He must have used a series of charms to clean himself up.

"How long have you been listening to our conversation?" she demanded, brow furrowed.

"Since you started to get all googly-eyed, falling for his lines and his Quidditch-Player charm," he said, almost on the verge of a sneer.

"What are you talking about?"

"What? Don't think I didn't notice you absolutely fawning over the man. Just a warning—he's got quite a lot of conquests beneath his belt—"

She rushed forward and pushed him out of his doorway and into his office. Kicking the door shut behind him, she pressed herself against it and pointed a finger at him in warning.

"Why would it matter to you if I go out with a man of _experience_? At least he didn't have to lure me down here under the false pretenses that there were very 'important business matters' to be discussed," she hissed.

Draco was being highly immature about the entire situation. It wasn't like some magical rendition of Grease. They weren't going steady, nor were they swapping rings or jackets or fluids. She certainly wasn't obligated to stay loyal to him after he had ruined his chances by trying to feed her a poisoned ham.

She took a deep breath. Water under the bridge. Water under the bridge.

"Of course it wouldn't matter! You can go out with whoever the Hell you want, Granger," he bit out angrily. "Maybe I'll even give old Pucey a call, see if you two would like to go on a double date with me and _Veronica._"

What the heck was a _Veronica_ and why would it help if they went on a double date or not? She scoffed and threw up her hands.

"Fine! Do whatever you want, you stupid git!" she yelled.

"Fine, maybe I will!" Draco yelled back.

Without another word, she turned around and opened the door, then quietly closed it, not wanting to cause a scene. The hallway was empty, thank goodness, and by the time Draco left his office to pursue her, the elevator doors had already slid closed.

xXx

* * *

Draco had had a Hell of a time looking through his phone book for any woman named 'Veronica' that he could take on his double date with Adrian-Backstabbing-Pucey and Hermione-Crazyass-Granger. In the end, he'd called in a favor from Blaise, who had sent over one of his best models for the evening. Sure, she was a complete airhead and probably couldn't tell left from right, but if it made Hermione jealous, then there was nothing to complain about.

He'd only hours ago been talking to Adrian about his future plans. No girls for me, he'd said. Not enough time. Well, the last time he checked, Hermione was certainly a girl, and Adrian had somehow ripped a giant hole in the space-time continuum to harvest this precious 'time' of his. Draco should have punched Adrian in the face when he'd had the chance. But he was too much of a charmer. Everything that came out of that man's mouth was like butter. Soft and melty and bad for the heart if taken in large increments. Which was just what he feared for Hermione.

Pft, he wasn't going to deny it. Yeah, he was still a little bit madly in some sort of emotion with the woman, but it was struggling with the lack of attention Hermione was showing him.

He couldn't focus on the papers on his desk in front of him. A whole lot of hoo-ha and blah-blah and nothing to do with Hermione, so it was completely pointless to him.

He had been caught completely off guard upon opening his office door to see Adrian standing in the hallway, wooing Hermione. And she had been falling for it. Sure, Adrian wasn't too bad looking, but Draco was a fucking Greek God. Every morning he had to literally pull himself away from the mirror, he was so attractive. Women eyed him on the streets. He could stop traffic with a smile.

WHY WAS HERMIONE STILL AVOIDING HIM!

He let his head slam down on his desk as his arms went limp in confusion. Well, tomorrow night, things would all change. He would have to take Adrian down a notch. Sure, they were pretty good friends, but there were larger things at risk here. Boobied, brown curly-haired things.

As the night wore on, he continued to repeat that one thought in his head. That tomorrow night, things would change. Otherwise, if he stopped thinking about it, he wouldn't be able to avoid that sudden constricting feeling at the thought of Adrian and Hermione, together, snogging in front of him at their candlelit table.

Lifting his head up, he got to work again, drowning himself in papers, trying to think of anything other than Hermione.

* * *

Author's Note:

WHAM BAM THANK YOU MAAM. And... carry on.


	7. After Dinner Conversations

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the book series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.

**This and Here  
**

**Chapter Seven**

After Dinner Conversations

* * *

Hermione woke up without ever having realized she had fallen asleep.

She'd laid her head down on her desk for a minute, trying to settle her discomfort with Draco's sudden defensiveness, trying to figure out if she liked his jealousy taunting her from the background or not.

Confronting him in his office had been… strange. He'd seemed a little desperate, and disparity in men often led to lack of appeal in her eyes—but with him, she'd been two seconds away from giving him a cookie and a pat on the head. Good boy. Now, stay. He had that type of effect on her. Where he could go so far as to call her a 'fatass bag of lard', and minutes later, she would forgive him.

In the end, she'd decided nothing, because her eyes had closed and her breathing had calmed and she was asleep.

A knock on the door had woken her up. She scratched at her face, like that would somehow help to erase the signs of fatigue, then knocked over a pile of papers onto her lap, to make it look like she'd been furiously working.

"Er.. come in," she chirped, but a rasping lining surrounded it, then drowned it.

"Granger," Draco greeted politely as he stood in her doorway. He looked a little apprehensive, feet securely positioned in one spot as if he knew that any further intrusion into her office would agitate the Hell out of her.

"Mmhmm…"

She flipped through the paperwork as he leaned against her doorframe with his arms across his chest. He was eyeing her, and she could feel his glare burning crisply through the top of her head, daring her to look up. But she refused to give him the satisfaction. Draco got off on that sort of thing.

"Just thought I would drop by before I left, to let you know that I talked to Adrian."

"Really? What did he say?"

"We made arrangements for tomorrow evening," he said, like it was no big deal. Like he hadn't just agreed to letting them see other people when they both knew very well that was the farthest from what they wanted. And if circumstances were different, and their lives completely opposite, that they would go for it.

She pursed her lips, tossed the papers onto her desk. Nodded.

"So I'll see you tomorrow night then."

"Right."

He didn't move, even though she'd already stupidly waved good-bye. Of course, it wouldn't be that simple. She groaned and leaned back in her chair.

"What?" she said, "And close the door behind you. I assume that you've got some sort of rant prepared, and I'd rather the rest of the hall not hear it."

He stepped into her office, swung the door closed with his foot, and walked straight up to her desk with his hands tucked in his pockets. His expression read 'all business', and a little bit of something else. To prepare herself, she stood up out of her chair, slung an arm across the back of it to balance herself.

"I sensed a bit of urgency in your tone, Granger. Got a hot date or something?" he jibed, cocking a brow.

"What did I tell you, Draco? I don't want to hear it if it doesn't have to do with work," she warned.

"You weren't complaining before."

"That's because I was trying to be polite. And patient. But guess what? I don't care about being polite, and I don't really have any patience left," she said as she drummed her fingers along the back of her chair.

"This is because of Friday, isn't it? Honestly, what was so bad about it? I know you had fun…" he waggled his eyebrow for good measure, which only infuriated Hermione to the point where she could feel her skull bursting into millions of pieces underneath her skin.

"No!" she shouted, walking around the desk with her arms flailing madly around her to emphasize how little of the concept he seemed to grasp. "It was not _fun_, Draco! Your idea of fun is pushing house elves into fires, or throwing babies off cliffs. What happened Friday was not fun!"

She placed her index finger against his chest, edging him back several steps.

"I don't even know why I agreed to go on some stupid double date with you in the first place—you'll probably pour truth serum over—"

"Hey now!" Draco suddenly roared, "I only did it because you kept denying it! Maybe if you were mature enough to admit that you loved—"

"DON'T SAY IT!" she shouted, quickly covering his mouth, as though she could somehow prevent the projectile vomit of those horrible words. Even though the only way she could was if she reached her hand down his throat and ripped apart his vocal chords.

But he obliged and stayed quiet. When she was certain he had closed his mouth, she pulled her hand away.

"Draco, you can't force people to say what you want them to say. I can't trust you, I can't trust your stupid little ideas, and now, I can't even trust myself around you. I don't feel safe with you."

His expression immediately softened and he took a large step back as if she'd just struck him very hard. He glared at her stonily as if was her fault that she'd gone to the Shrieking Shack with him. Oh right, like it was her idea to walk around Diagon Alley like a pair of Japanese tourists, bolting at every loud noise and staring accusingly at anyone who looked at them in any other way but politely.

"So is that why you're going out with Pucey," he asked, regaining his composure. He approached her so suddenly that she instinctively held up her hands to ward him off. The freak. "Okay, I get it, 'Let's throw Draco off the trail'. Ooh, you caught me with my pants down. Fine, I'll admit it, I don't like it—so you can go ahead and call him, owl him, whatever the Hell you like, and tell him you can't. Okay?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said—"

"I heard what you said!" she snapped, "You're not listening to a word _I _say! Stop telling me what to do, you big moron! I _want_ to go out with Pucey because he's very nice. That's right. I _want_ to!"

Draco threw his head back and laughed very overdramatically. "All right, I get it. Okay, haha, joke's over. You got me! Where are the cameras?"

Hermione held her head in her hands, completely baffled by how stupid one man could be. He was completely oblivious to everything he was saying, repelling her words like bothersome gnats that just got in the way. She sighed and tilted her head back to look at him, evenly, in the eye.

"This isn't a joke," she sneered.

He chuckled again.

"But, but we love each other," he reasoned.

It was a bit like explaining sex to a child. There's birds, there's bees, there's a penis somewhere in there, and then out comes a baby. Just a bit too much complexity for him to handle. She wondered where to begin—whether it was smarter to explain how it ended or how it began because either way, it would go in one ear and out the other and end up having not been digested at all. All that mattered to her was getting it off of her chest because it had been weighing down on it for quite a while, suffocating her heart and making it beat irrationally when he was around.

"You can love other people, too," she finally said.

And as if she'd told him he had bad hair instead, he inhaled sharply and pursed his lips, as if he was thinking about which way was easiest to kill her. She grabbed her purse from her desk and swung it over her shoulder, but not before spotting him shrivel backwards a bit.

"I think it's time for you to go," she said, meaning it in the nicest way possible because she had to go home too. He nodded, completely avoided eye contact, and sauntered towards the office door, opening it, then slipping out with hardly a word.

xXx

* * *

It was painful. Like getting an arrow shot into your gut, so deftly that it avoids all vital organs, but causes so much pain you wish you were dead. Like that kind of pain.

But of course, it got worse.

When he stepped out of the lift and into the Atrium, there was old, reliable Pucey, waiting for Hermione with a bouquet of flowers, like some White Knight. He waved his 'hello's and 'goodbye's all in one consecutive flit of the wrist, and turned his attention to the lift opening directly next to Draco.

Out stepped Hermione, and with a blush flooding her cheeks, Pucey walked up to her, gave her a hug, whispered something in her ears, and she was immediately giggling. And everyone else hardly found it as disgusting as Draco. They turned to one another and commented on how well-suited they seemed for each other, how beneficial this could be to her career. How Hermione Granger had always needed a counterpart as strong and charming as Pucey. Draco gagged and gagged and gagged and considered tackling Pucey to the ground and shattering all the bones in his face. But he was dreaming, because Pucey was one of the few reliable friends he had left, and it would do him no good to hurt his hands trying to punch Pucey any ways.

Instead, he watched helplessly as Pucey guided Hermione to the main lift, catching brief snippets of conversation about how he had such little time left in London that he wanted to spend as much of it with Hermione as possible. How could the man even know Hermione that well? They'd literally only talked for ten minutes.

Then again, Pucey had mentioned once or twice how she'd tutored him at Hogwarts. How she had been an exquisite teacher and patient with his slowness.

Pft, what patience was he talking about? Whenever he was with Hermione, she was always batshit crazy. Snarling and spitting and foaming at the mouth. Yet, he was strangely attracted to her.

Well, whatever. In less than twenty-four hours he would have a gorgeous model at his side, and they would walk together into the restaurant and Hermione and Pucey would both be so baffled by this sudden turn of events that they would hardly have the time of day for each other. He waited until the main lift came back down, then stepped into it among a throng of other wizards and witches eager to return home.

xXx

Zabini had actually pulled through this time. As Draco escorted 'Veronica' through the front door of the restaurant, he couldn't have felt prouder. She was tall, slender, blonde, and so, so incredibly stupid. But hey, at least they were turning heads.

Work had gone by incredibly slow. Not a word from Granger, but plenty from Pucey, who'd called and owled all day, nagging him about Hermione. About her favorite food, about her favorite color. How the hell was he supposed to know?—well, hadn't he gone out with her at Hogwarts for a while?—oh yeah.

And it was during this particular conversation with Pucey that Draco had realized that Granger had been right. He didn't really listen to most of what she had to say. He'd known her for nearly a decade, and still had no idea what she liked to do with her free time—other than read, read and work. Maybe study some Magical history in her free time. Oh God, he was a jerk.

But none of that mattered, because by the end of the night, Draco would be able to look at Hermione confidently and not have her squirm from discomfort. Plus, he'd have to pull out the big guns and get rid of Pucey. But without Pucey noticing. Which would be a difficult task, but Draco was up to the challenge.

"There they are, quick, look sexy," Draco said, indicating to the back of Hermione's head, and Pucey who sat to her left.

Veronica immediately pouted her lips, batted her eyelashes, added an extra sway to her hips. But neither person noticed her presence until Draco purposely knocked his elbow into Hermione's head.

When she turned around, Draco was somewhat floored. She looked fresher, more alive, happy even. Her hair was pulled up, her black dress was strapless, flowy and short, and she was smiling a real smile.

Or had been. Now she was glaring at him, knowing very well he'd hit her on purpose. Words came out of her mouth but he couldn't differentiate one syllable from the next. All just a bunch of mush. He didn't realize he was staring until Pucey cleared his throat.

"I think your date is waiting for you," he said, gesturing towards Veronica who seemed to be having difficulty pulling her chair back from beneath the table. Draco groaned, then walked over to her chair and helped her into it. She smiled seductively and held out her hand to Pucey.

"I'm Veronica. I've seen you before," she purred.

Draco was pleased at the look of pure displeasure on Hermione's face. But that quickly changed when Pucey brushed Veronica off.

"If you've ever been to one of my matches, then, probably," he said brusquely, turning his attention back to the highly interesting conversation he was having with Hermione. Draco looked over at Veronica and frowned.

"So, what have you two been discussing?" Draco inserted, causing both Hermione and Adrian to look at him at the same time. But then Adrian quickly shook himself out of confusion and smiled as he turned back to look at Hermione.

"Well, it turns out that Hermione's really into—"

"Reading," Draco intervened. Well, pft, no-brainer.

"Uh, no… Actually, she really enjoys—"

"Studying," he interrupted again. God, he was slugging these totally out of the ballpark. Hermione glared at him from across the table, eyes spewing burning lava, but Draco ignored it.

"No… she likes to paint in her free time," Adrian said, looking at her with one of those, classic Pucey smiles, "And I was just telling her about how I recently auctioned off one of my own pieces for charity."

Oh, the lameness of it all. Draco worked hard to swallow the vomit that rose up in his throat. He was getting more and more bored by the second. Selling paintings for charity? Pucey, Pucey, Pucey.

Veronica, seemingly amazed by the conversation topic, turned to stare wide-eyed at Hermione.

"You paint?" she queried in awe, "Draco was just telling me all about how you spend all your time reading. Wow, you can read, _and _you can paint!"

He nearly fell over in his chair. Veronica was dangerously stupid, but apparently very entertaining, according to the smug grin on Hermione's face. Pucey, on the other hand, was completely oblivious.

"Haha, Veronica, I didn't say that…"

"Yes, you did. I remember. You said that maybe if Hermione didn't spend all her time reading, she could spend more time getting a life—"

Shit.

"Uh, I didn't meant it that way—I meant it in a highly complimentary way that perhaps if Hermione didn't read as much, she could be able to enjoy… things," he struggled.

Agh, he was as good as dead. But apparently the two lovebirds hardly noticed, they were all over each other.

"So, since when have you been painting?" he inquired, hoping to turn the conversation in another direction. Instead, Hermione only appeared agitated. There was no satisfying this woman.

"Actually, I showed you several of my paintings back at Hogwarts," she replied. "Adrian remembered."

And now she was rubbing it all in her face. He held back a sneer. Time to take things up a notch.

"Oh, yes, Hogwarts. How could I forget?" he said as he slapped Pucey on the back, "Remember when you used to call Hermione, 'Hermaphrodite? I do!"

Then Draco was guffawing so loud that people at other tables looked over in confusion. Pucey, on the other hand, was boiling. His face was completely blank, but Draco realized that he was calculating, that the gears were turning and sooner or later he'd figure out what Draco was doing.

He glanced across the table at Hermione, who was biting her lip in anger. Perhaps that hadn't been the smartest move, but at least Adrian looked like the moron now. Right?

"That was a long time ago," Adrian finally responded, taking Hermione's hand in his as he turned to look at her, "But I still feel that I should apologize if I hurt you in any way when I did that."

Hermione was falling for it. She was actually falling for the crap Adrian was shoveling out. Draco inhaled sharply and threw his napkin onto the table. His plan had just backfired in his own face, and Adrian was reaping all the benefits he should have been reaping.

"What!" he shouted, "You're actually falling for that drivel?"

In retrospect, that was perhaps the worst thing he could have said.

At the same time, both Hermione and Adrian stood up, pushing their seats back. She looked stunning with her eyes all aglow with rage and her dress swishing around her knees as she moved. But then she was tucking her hand into the crook of Adrian's elbow and whispering something into his ear, and Adrian was actually listening.

She smiled sweetly at Veronica, mouthed a 'it was nice to meet you', but didn't acknowledge Draco's existence at all.

"I think we're going to eat somewhere else," Adrian said for her, shooting daggers with his eyes. Then the two turned and left.

Ugh, and now he was stuck with this airhead. At least they hadn't ordered anything. Perhaps he could get up and make a run for it. No, things were already bad enough as it was. With a groan, he leaned back in his chair and waited for the night to end.

xXx

* * *

Hermione knew he was there before she even got to her floor. There was just that distinct feeling that crawled up her spine and laid eggs of suspicion in the back of her head.

When she got to her hall, he was sitting there against her door, arms sprawled out across his knees, snoring softly. He immediately jumped up when she walked up to him, jingling her keys to get his attention. After wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth, he jammed his hands into his pockets.

She'd just gotten back from her private dinner with Adrian. The two had talked for hours as they ate their desert, and yes, she'd been corny enough to share it with him. So the cheesecake sat in the middle of the table and they each took bites, and sometimes their forks would clash and she would blush and he would smile. They'd talked so long that she'd forgotten she had work tomorrow morning, and he'd forgotten about his early practice. And even though they'd talked about it, argued, bickered and challenged each other on this particular topic, he still insisted he walk her home because he was a gentleman. Though she might not have felt anything, he had, and they agreed that that would be enough.

So at the door they said their good-byes, and he snuck in a kiss, and she hugged him in thanks. Then she trudged up the stairs with that sinking feeling that the evening had just begun.

Draco looked like a lost orphan, his hair tousled from having slept at an awkward angle with his face burrowed into his shoulder, and his clothes rumpled from sitting on the ground. But he still had the nerve to smile at her as though nothing had gone wrong.

She unlocked her door, completely ignoring him, and walked into her flat. She left the door open for him.

"What?" she said, but it was a defeated 'what', and frankly, she didn't really know if she had the energy to argue with Draco. She'd already spent all of it arguing with Pucey about their compatibility. And no, not 'their' as in his and hers, but 'their' as in Draco's and hers.

"So, no Pucey?"

She grumbled and threw her purse onto one of her chairs.

"No, no Pucey," she sighed.

"What happened?"

"Well, wouldn't you like to know."

"Yes, actually, I would."

Leave it to Draco to take her sarcasm for seriousness. She closed her eyes and let out another large sigh.

"What are you doing here, Draco? And where's that dim bulb of yours?"

He shrugged. "I sent her back to Zabini. She was one of his models that he manages."

She was a little relieved.

When they had walked in together, she had nearly fled to the bathroom. The woman was gorgeous, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. The two looked completely perfect for each other, and for a second, as Pucey's words had bounced off of her, she had a small twinge of fear that Draco had found his match. But knowing that 'Veronica' had been there on behalf of Blaise mollified the fear.

Hermione nodded. He still hadn't told her why he was here, though she could take a few guesses why.

"What? What's wrong?" she asked as he stood there, staring at her.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry."

"Well, I should hope, your behavior tonight was completely unacceptable—"

"No, not about that, about not listening to you," he clarified. "I'm definitely not sorry I got old Pucey to squirm a little."

"Well, he certainly didn't appreciate it," she sneered. "Neither did I. You were rude, completely out of line—"

"All right, all right, I get it. There's something else I had to tell you—"

"—inconsiderate, bad-mannered, overall offensive—"

"Granger…"

"—a bad conversationalist… OH, and LATE—"

"Hermione!"

She had barely gotten started as the memories from the past twenty-four hours started to flood through. There were hardly words to explain how ashamed she was to be around him at that moment. How angry she was at his thoughtlessness. How incredibly stupid he could be.

She still couldn't understand why Adrian still insisted on being his friend, after everything they'd talked about over dinner. Perhaps it was some deep Slytherin bond, that when broken, kills slowly and painfully. With all these thoughts clouding her head, she hardly noticed when Draco reached into his back pocket and pulled something out with his hand.

She stopped counting off on her fingers and slowly let her arms fall to her side as he dropped down to one knee. Oh for the love of…

"Marry me."

* * *

Author's Note:

Moving on... ANNDD next chapter.


	8. Dos and Don'ts

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the book series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.

**This and Here**

**Chapter Eight**

Dos and Don'ts

* * *

Draco was a strong believer of self-action. If he wanted something done, he did it himself.

But at that moment, as he was kneeling on the ground with the engagement ring sitting on the palm of his hand, he began to reconsider his beliefs. Hermione was about a hop, skip and a jump away from taking him by the neck and strangling him to death.

"What are you talking about?" she said, low, threatening, on the verge of performing a massacre. Draco instinctively wanted to drop his hands to his crotch, forgetting how he'd left himself so vulnerable in this kneeling position. But that stupid ring was still in the box, still on his palm, still not on Hermione's finger.

"Marry me, Granger," he demanded.

"Do you even realize what you're saying?" she asked. "Draco, 'marry' is not a synonym for 'fuck'."

And for a few seconds, Draco's mouth dropped open because he had never heard Hermione use that term. She reminded him of a doe-eyed late bloomer in grade school, that gags when she sees the highly scientific and not strange at all anatomy of a penis projected against an entire wall. So naïve. What a joke.

He considered explaining this theory to her, but figured it wasn't the best time. Instead, he closed the box, got off the ground and walked into her kitchen, head tilted down in slight dejection. What had he really expected out of this, any ways? Well, a lot of impossibilities, a lot of impracticalities, that sort of thing.

"Yes, I'm quite aware what the word means," he finally responded, touching her knick knacks lying around on her kitchen counter because he knew it would bother her. "So I take it that it's a 'no'?"

She followed him, putting everything back into its correct position and angling them just right after he touched them because she's just too OCD and can't handle a little chaos.

"What exactly did you think I'd do?"

"I don't know. A 'yes' would have been nice."

She rolled her eyes and walked out of the kitchen to leave him with his own stupid thoughts.

"This, this is why I wanted to go out with Pucey. To meet other men that aren't as crazy as you are," she sighed. "You need to go home, Draco. Think things over. Clear your head."

He slammed his hands down on the table. God, didn't she get it yet? He had cleared his head, he'd thought things over, and for the past few weeks, all he wanted was her. And the mess he'd made of things had been completely unplanned and honestly, he was sorry about it, but if she kept heckling him and harassing him about that fucking truth serum, he would take back the apology.

"Hermione," he muttered, "I'll admit it, the ring was a last-ditch effort."

"Hmph."

"It was with all the best intentions, though."

"What do you want, Draco?"

He shrugged. As he'd sat in the hallway, he'd prepared fantastic speeches in his head for this very moment, but now, all of them seemed inappropriate, a little unfitting for the mood. He got a little tense because she looked like one false move would make her go batshit crazy, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"All I know is that—er—that, well, I don't know, I think that we should go for it."

"Have you just been dead for the past week? We tried that, it didn't work. And it especially will not work with the both of us up for Minister. Did you forget that little part?"

Yes, yes he had. But really, all they had to do was be on good behavior, and a candidate would be chosen based on work ethic, recommendations, success rates, resumes, all that shit. Frankly, it was already out of their hands.

"All right, well, what about after? I'm willing to wait."

"Draco, it. Did. Not. Work," she reiterated.

Fucking truth serum. He grabbed her shoulders, wanted to shake her like a rag doll till she would open her eyes and look at him and not leave him standing there like a moron.

"Goddamnit, how many times do I have to say I'm sorry about the truth serum?"

"It's not just that! And you know it!"

She was shouting now, staring him right in the eye, and the anger she was emitting nearly knocked him off his feet.

"Okay, I'll listen to what you have to say, I'll do what you want, just give me another chance."

That saying about how Malfoys never beg. Shit. Complete shit. He would have gotten back onto his knees with his head to the ground if that meant she would at least show him some small amount of affection. It was weird, the affect Hermione had on him. Their relationship was amorphous—sometimes they hated each other, sometimes they loved each other, and it had almost worked out before. Almost. Then Hermione had argued her way out of it, used science and logic to prove that they just didn't add up. And he had actually believed her.

"No, Draco."

"What's the problem? Tell me, what is keeping you from saying 'yes'?"

"For one thing, we already tried it, Draco! It didn't work out! How many times do I have to keep repeating myself?"

"It almost did, though. Look at me and tell me, honestly, that you were not having fun before that. That you didn't get that gut feeling that maybe, things could work out."

She looked down, contemplative. The constriction of his chest began to slowly ease. Then she tilted her head back up and secured eye contact.

"No, I didn't."

And then he was back on the ground, getting kicked and punched in the gut from all directions, writing in pain on the floor as his rib cage collapsed in on itself. But there was a small spark of hope, because Hermione was an atrocious liar and judging by her tightly-drawn lips and quivering hands, he could tell she was lying, just a bit.

"What else, then, what else is in the way?"

"It just wouldn't work. No office relationships, Draco. You know that."

"Well then, let's quit."

"No!" she shouted, pushing him away in disgust. "This is my career! I've worked hard for it, and I'm not going to give it up because you have some stupid idea that this'll work out. Even though it failed the first time, and the second!"

"It didn't work the first time because you said it couldn't!" he sneered, stepping back in front of her again. "And I was stupid enough to believe you. Well, guess what? I'm not going to let you convince me with your fancy facts and your fancy logic this time."

"My _fancy _facts and my _fancy_ logic? Oh, excuse me! I didn't realize that COMMON SENSE was so extravagant!" she yelled as she stalked back into her kitchen, far, far away from him.

"You know what I mean!" he shouted.

He followed her so closely that when the turned around to respond, they ran into one another. Automatically, he reached out to steady her, and she let him. That was how they were. Without wanting to, without having to tell themselves to, they were already there. Predicting, holding, knowing. A hell of a lot of verbs.

She sighed and he released her and they were back to their sparring positions.

"Why can't you just let this go?" she pleaded.

Originally, this hadn't even been his idea. It had been his mother's. There were ulterior motives at the beginning, not so much in the middle, and now at the end, or so he hoped to God it wasn't the end, there was hardly anything left. He just wanted her because that's what his head told him he wanted. No rewards, no benefits. That was just how it was supposed to be. Him and her. Her and him.

"Because tonight, all I wanted to do was punch Pucey in the fucking dick whenever he looked at you."

Well, that was that, summed up in laymen's terms.

"What? What is that even supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, frustrated.

"It means—that I was jealous, all right? And I was jealous because I love you. ALL RIGHT?"

He hadn't meant to raise his voice at the end, but God, he thought Hermione was smart, and it was a pain having to explain every single notion, every single word, and every single fucking feeling he had to her.

"So stop saying it won't work, because if you want this as much as I do, then it will work!" he said.

He angled his head down a little, so their noses were a few inches apart. He wanted to touch her, hold her, anything other than shout at her, but he held back.

"I don't want it that bad," she finally replied.

Draco had never heard such a lie in his life. She could feel her shaking even though they weren't even touching, could feel her heavy breaths on his collarbone and her eyes raking over his lips.

Then they were moving towards each other with this painful slowness that had him counting the seconds until their foreheads were touching, then the tips of their noses. Then almost, almost. A hair's breadth away, skin so incredibly close. God, he could even feel the air blowing out her nostrils against his upper lip. Chills everywhere.

Oh wait, but hadn't she just said she didn't want it?

"You know what, Granger?"

It was getting late, she was tired, he was angry to the point of almost being tired, and really, he had had enough of trying to court a liar. Defeated, almost, he took a step back away from her.

"If you weren't such a coward, you'd admit it. You'd admit that you love me, that you want this. I don't know how many more times I can tell you I'm sorry, or that I love you, but it's like talking to a wall."

He took another step back, then another, and soon, he was at the door, opening it. She looked flabbergasted. Well, what'd she expect? He'd laid down his heart for her and she'd completely rejected it.

There was pain, and then there was Hell, and right now he was feeling a little bit of both. Perhaps this was what she felt like, not being able to trust him. First she had to learn to trust herself, then maybe they would talk.

"I would have given it all up for you," he mumbled, with a shrug. Too bad she couldn't say the same thing for him.

He didn't even bother to look at her as he closed the door behind him.

xXx

* * *

It was one of those seesaw types of decisions, where there's a hefty amount on each side, and it just so happens that the fat kid on the left is carrying just a little more weight than the fat kid on the right. So the board sinks on one side and rises on the other. And the fatter kid has all the control.

Well, that fatter kid was her head. And her head was currently spewing excuses at a mile a minute. Would you really have wanted to spend the rest of your life with that dud? Pucey's a better pick, any ways.

Pity that she already told Pucey off even before the cheesecake. She had been completely honest with him. That as much of an ass Draco was, she couldn't really see anybody else in the picture. That even though he hurt her sometimes, it was only with the hope of protecting her, and it was this twisted type of logic of his that only she understood, and he only had because of her. In the end, Pucey had submitted, after arguing and scolding her since he thought himself a much better candidate than Draco. He had to admit, he'd thought she was special. Well, whatever.

She had almost blurted out a 'yes' when Draco got down on his knee, but then her head had got in the way with its nasty suspicions and seeds of hatred. It kept warning her that it was a sham, a big joke on her. And she had trusted her head because she had been trusting her head her entire life and look where it had gotten her. But she hadn't meant to hurt Draco. And she certainly hadn't expected him to give up that easily and leave. Then again, she hadn't given him an inch of space. She'd repelled every single argument, every single clandestinely sweet word he'd told her, all because of that big, stupid head of hers.

Later, it all became quite clear that maybe she was just as bad as she'd thought Draco was. She had been thinking with her head the entire time, and he'd been thinking with his heart, which she had mistaken for his dick. Back at Hogwarts, she had decided to end their relationship where it was. She'd said it was because of his big ego, of his tendency to not care about any one else but himself. Well, now she hated herself because of the hypocrite she'd become. And that dilemma created a chasm, and she'd only seen one way to get across it.

So after a few days of stewing in her thoughts, talking to Harry, Ron, Ginny, anyone who would listen, she'd made the decision to leave. At that very moment, she was leaving the Atrium of the Ministry for the last time. With her belongings already shipped back to her flat, and her letter of resignation already opened, read and discussed with the Minister, she had quit. She'd always wondered what it would be like to be a Healer any ways. People at St. Mungo's would probably need her more than any body at the Ministry.

She had, without knowing it, turned into what she hated. Someone who was so self-involved that they'd forgotten about everything truly important. Someone so absorbed in her work that she'd let go of the one thing that might have actually made a difference. She hadn't meant it when she'd said she didn't want it. She'd wanted it so badly that it scared her.

That fear of hers had kept her from saying anything other than 'yes' to Draco. But that fear was gone because who the Hell cared now that she wasn't working at the Ministry. With a deep breath, she stepped into the main lift. Good-bye department, good-bye Minstry, good-bye Draco.

xXx

* * *

He hadn't noticed that she'd left because he had assumed that she would always be there. It came as a horrible surprise when he happened to bump into her replacement in the lift down from the main street into the Atrium.

He was a thin, balding man with glasses and sagging shoulders. Nothing at all appealing to the eye. He was quite approachable though. As soon as Draco walked in, he stuck out his hand, roughly grabbed Draco's, and shook. At first, Draco had recoiled at the small gnome-like creature that had suddenly touched him, but let his defenses dropped when the man began speaking with a surprisingly jovial voice.

"Hello, the name's Desson Wright. I just transferred in, I'm taking over for someone who recently resigned, so I'm a little nervous."

Draco forced a chuckle and slapped Desson on the back.

"Ah, there's nothing to worry about when you're working in rooms several hundred feet below ground, with no windows or fire exits."

Desson shriveled into a corner.

"Just a little office humor," he reassured. "So, what poor sap's job are you taking?"

"The Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

Draco cocked a brow and tilted his head as if he'd misheard Desson's response. Because clearly, he must have since Hermione was definitely still at the Ministry.

"Haha, I think you mean another department. The last time I checked, Hermione Granger was still working there."

"Ah, yes, that's her name. Ms. Granger resigned almost a week ago. I thought it was big news, since she was in the running for the Minister of Magic position," Desson said.

Draco pursed his lips in thought as he tried to contain all the sudden emotions threatening to explode all over the lift. He waited until the elevator reached the Atrium with a familiar 'ding', then ran out, ignoring Desson's good-bye. This couldn't be happening. How had he not heard a single word about this? A week? A fucking week? That was how long she'd been gone? He'd been so caught up trying to ignore her that he hadn't even noticed that she'd left. This simply was not right. It must have been a dream. He wanted to slam his head against a wall, a desk, something.

"Hello," he said as calmly as possible when he reached the reception area. "Could you tell me which floor a Ms. Hermione Granger works on?"

The woman behind the desk hardly took a second to look up at him as she said in an eerily metallic voice, "Ms. Granger recently resigned. She no longer works at the Ministry."

Draco took several slow steps backwards, then turned around and bolted towards the lift.

As fate would have it, as soon as Draco reached his floor, none other than Adrian Pucey was standing outside his office, a bottle of wine in one hand.

"Hey, Pucey, don't have a lot of time to talk right now," he muttered as he pushed open the door and walked in. He immediately began shuffling through papers. Had he even gotten a memo about this? Since when did people not inform him about catastrophic events in the Ministry?

"I just came by to congratulate you. Looks like your chances of becoming Minister are a lot better now," Adrian said, setting the bottle down with an angry 'clunk' on his desk.

Draco had forgotten all about how he'd treated Pucey at dinner. He stopped shuffling through the papers and looked up at him.

"Is… something the matter?"

He honestly didn't have the time right now for Pucey to pulverize him, but judging from the smile on Pucey's face, he was just kidding around.

"The only reason I'm not beating the shit out of you right now is because you're my friend And because it looks like Hermione ended up with neither of us."

"What are you talking about?" Draco replied with a raised brow. And how did Pucey know about Hermione before he knew?

"Oh, don't play stupid. You know that she left me for you," Adrian scoffed.

Okay, there were several things horribly wrong with that comment. Draco took a deep breath, then let it out.

"Pucey, for one, you only went on one date with her. Two, what are you talking about? Three, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

Adrian immediately held his hands up.

"Hey, okay, calm down. I was just messing around with you," he said. "I thought she said she told you."

Draco began to get that sinking feeling in his gut again, the one he used to get as a child when his mother or father had caught him eating before dinner and with one look, would cause him to feel immense guilt. He combed his hand through his hair and then slammed it onto the table.

"Told. Me. What?" he bit out, patience suddenly gone because nothing really mattered.

"She said it'd be better if we were just friends."

"Why?" Draco immediately asked.

"How did you not know this?"

Adrian's expression was one of complete surprise, which irked Draco even further because he had no idea where this surprise was coming from.

"Just tell me!" he shouted.

"She said she already loved someone else."

Draco suddenly jumped onto his desk and slid across it, knocking ink onto the carpet and piles and piles of papers over. He grabbed Adrian by the collar of his jacket and pulled him close. So this was why Hermione couldn't commit. She was already in love with someone else. All his arguments, all his efforts, wasted. It felt like his insides were tearing away, dissolving in acid and threatening to rise up through his throat. Like his appendages were dropping off, like he was being stabbed from all directions.

So this was what it felt like to die.

"Who is it? Potter? Weasley? Goddamnit, don't tell me its Longbottom."

Adrian's eye grew wide as Draco continued to shake him, then finally realized that he had the strength to stop it and quickly grabbed his hands.

"Get a hold of yourself!" he shouted, but Draco wasn't listening. "It's you, you git. Now get your hands off of me!"

Draco let Adrian brush his hands off, then slowly climbed off his desk and firmly planted his two feet on the ground. Oh God, how had things gone so wrong. Of everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, Draco was only sure of one thing.

Yeah, this was what it felt like to die.

* * *

Author's Note:

So a few notes: what about the two-week notice period? Well, in the Ministry of Magic, there's no such thing because I say so. And getting people transferred in rather than promoting current workers? That's also Ministry policy, and also because I say so. And why is it moving so fast? Well, because some people have waited three years for the end of this and I say, damnit, here you go! So enjoy it, stop questioning why some parts make no sense at all, and that's that.


	9. Bathrooms

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the book series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.

**This and Here**

**Chapter Nine**

Bathrooms

* * *

God forbid he ask his mother for advice while sober.

And indeed, Narcissa had never quite seen her son quite so inebriated. He had frequented Malfoy Manor drunk before, of course. Once, he had managed to convince Crabbe and Goyle that the Fountain of Youth lay somewhere on the Malfoy property and at promptly three in the morning, the Manor was woken up with whoops of success as the boys went streaking through the sprinklers. Draco included of course. Any increment beyond five glasses of wine was enough to wipe Draco of any dignity—which was saying quite little for the alcohol considering Draco fared quite poorly in the dignity department.

But considering all else, Narcissa had never seen her son so devastated. She had rushed to the main hall as soon as she had heard the 'POP' of apparation, only to hear a 'BANG' of realization as he walked into the front door. When he finally opened the door, he fell onto the granite floor and lay there for perhaps fifteen minutes before extending a greeting to his mother. It was not so much a greeting as it was a 'MERLIN'S BEARD MY LIFE IS RUINED'. Indeed, thank Merlin that his father was thoroughly passed out with the wine glass still in his hand.

Narcissa was not the type to lend anyone a helping hand, not even her own spawn, so she levitated Draco—first, into a wall as punishment for showing up _this_ drunk, and then to the closest bathroom, where she promptly began filling the tub with cold water. As the water inched up the side of the bath, Draco explained in all his drunken glory, the banes of his existence—that "slutmongrel" Pucey and that "cantankerous jungle cat of a witch" Hermione, and he hardly noticed at all when Narcissa levitated him over the tub. He should have caught on from the way his mother picked up the hem of her robes and turned her face away, but of course, he didn't, and within seconds, he was climbing the Alps butt naked. Or at least, he thought he was.

When he burst out of the arctic cold water, gasping for air, his mother let out a cackle of delight, because what mother doesn't find pleasure in seeing her son hoover air in all his intoxicated debauchery? Draco clawed his way out of the tub like a wet cat, then proceeded to vomit all over the nice marble floor of the bathroom, and maybe even a little made it into the toilet.

"YOU ARE INSANE," he sputtered out, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"And you missed a spot," Narcissa curtly replied, turning on her heel and walking out of the room.

Watching his mother prance around as if she _hadn't_ almost committed manslaughter made Draco almost forget why he'd come back here, to this wretched place that had sucked the humanity out of him for a good two decades like some sort of freak hybrid graveyard-vacuum-booby trap. Then the fumes from his own bile wafted up to his nose and he remembered everything in its awesome painfulness—oh right, he didn't know where Hermione was, his life was in shambles, and he was completely and utterly sloshed.

He jumped up off the ground and chased his mother down the hall, waving his arms as if it would help and screaming profanities like a madman. He naturally assumed his father was blackout drunk, as the story of his childhood often went, because Lucius would have had his walking cane up Draco's arse before he'd even stepped foot into the Manor. And then he would have made him run naked through the sprinklers for giggles. Glegh—bad memories of Crabbe's junk flopping about like a ragdoll made him trip over his own feet.

Narcissa finally stopped at the dining room, where she took a seat at the head of the table and steepled her fingers beneath her chin with that stupid Chesire-cat grin taking up half of her face. Draco took the seat opposite her and cleared his throat.

"All right, I apologize… for my… er… current—condition?" he finally managed to spit out with a conclusive flick of his wrist, even though the room was spinning like a carousel, and the house elf in the corner was beginning to look more and more like Hermione.

He could tell his mother was upset at the way his eyes kept rolling about in his head like marbles. Wasn't there some sort of spell for this? _Eradico alcoholatus_ or _Iswearimnotico Drunkitio_… GOD, just any English phrase masquerading as a Latin proverb?

"I hope… No, I pray—that you have a good reason for showing up at this god awful hour, drunk and making a fool of yourself!" she hissed as her eyes narrowed threateningly.

They eyed each other from opposite ends of the table until finally, Draco succumbed, unable to stare straight any longer, and let his head smash into the table.

"Shbeee webbttt," he moaned into the dining mat.

"What?" Narcissa replied.

He let his head roll to the side so his cheek flattened out on top of the table.

"Shhee leeffftt!" he cried out.

She scoffed and folded her arms across her chest as she leaned back in the chair. "I gathered that much from your little… diatribe in the bathroom. What exactly do you plan on doing about it?"

Draco simply let out a wail and let his arms drop like limp noodles to his side. In the first place, it was all his mother's fault. She'd invaded his man-pad and practically forced him to fall in love with Hermione, and now here he was, a grown man, slobbering all over the fine oak dining table. Secondly—secondly, he was in love with Hermione. Thirdly, Hermione love. FourthlyloveHermione.

"I LOVE HER," he shouted, his head too heavy to move, but his hands free to make all sorts of gestures. There was absolute silence as Narcissa absorbed this information.

"Then what exactly are _you_ doing sprawled out across _my_ dining room table?"

"I don't know where she bloody is!" he wailed again, "The Ministry won't tell me anything, they keep going on and on and on and on and on about how they've got enough press to handle as it is and now all I want to do is just tell her I love her and I'm sorry that I told her because I guess she's the groundhog type that hides when it sees its shadow and I just figured that we'd work that…"

"DRACO!" Narcissa had to yell in order to put a stop to his drunken ramblings. He lifted his head just enough to see her face, then dropped his head again.

Another silence ensued until Draco finally lifted his body all the way up until his back was against his chair. His mother breathed sharply through her nostrils, as if she was thinking about something painful, and loosened her shoulders.

"Draco—many years ago, right before your father and I were married…"

"Oh my god mother…" Draco interrupted, gesturing to the house elf for more alcohol. Narcissa sneered and motioned for the elf to stay put.

"So help me, Draco, you are going to listen to this story because if I am going to impart any bit of romantic wisdom upon my son, this is it—so shut up and sit tight or I will lock you in the bathroom with your own vomit," Narcissa hissed, completely annoyed and completely serious.

"You don't own me!" he threatened in return in some pitiful display of his manliness, but he quickly folded his hands in his lap and stayed silent.

"Before your father and I were married," she cleared her throat as she loosened her shoulders a bit, "He proposed at least three times to me. I denied him the first several times he proposed because I was already engaged to another wizard. But the last time, I said yes, broke my engagement with my ex-fiancee, and married your father."

Draco snorted. Wow. His mother told the _worst stories ever_. He should've assumed that it would suck, judging from the very rare bedtime stories she'd told him as a child. Ohh, how could he forget the epic sagas of _Horace, the Pureblood Prince_ and _Mortigus, the Mentally Incapacitated and Malodorous Mudblood_.

"Why?" Narcissa continued, "Because even after my parents placed a cloaking charm on our house, he still managed to find me. So what I am trying to tell you is that—if you love her, then… I suppose you need to do everything in your power to find her."

The tail end of his mother's story was the only worthwhile part of her entire rant. She could've have simply said "Go get 'em tiger!" and gotten the same reaction because Draco was drunk and apt to forget everything about this night. The only thing that actually shook him to the core was the fact that she'd slumped while telling the story, and never in his entire life had he seen his mother loosen her shoulders. And that was good enough reason to take the moral of her story to heart. He just needed to find out where to start. God, he didn't want to deal with the Weasel, who would probably explode his brains through his eye sockets if Draco got within breathing distance of him. And god forbid he talk to Ginny, because she would no doubt relay any and all juicy details of their meeting to Ron, and again, Ron's brain would explode. Potter, Potter was a safer bet, and although he'd sworn from a very young, very prepubescent age to never, ever fraternize with him, his mother was right. He would need to swallow his pride and find Hermione, or live a life as a sterile fungus of a man, whittling his life away in a darkly-lit cellar some where.

"Thanks mother," he managed, "So… who was this other chap that you would've married had father not made such a chivalric move?"

"It's not important," she said with a shake of her head.

"No, come on, you can tell me, I feel like we're having a moment here, one of those fabled mother-son moments," Draco replied, though his head was beginning to spin again and all of a sudden he had three mothers.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt… You remember your good friend Vincent? Well, his father and I met…"

Draco blocked out the rest of his mother's words as utter disgust clouded every sensory orifice of his body. _He_ could have had _Crabbe's_ genetics and been a whale of a man with blubber in his armpits. His head hit the table with a loud "BANG" as the alcohol overtook him. He would get to work finding Hermione, first thing in the morning.

xXx

* * *

Hermione finally made an attempt to immerse herself back into society a few months after her resignation. She'd successfully watched every season of every television series that she'd ever been the least bit curious about and felt that it was about time to return to reality. Actually, it wasn't so much a personal sentiment as it was the sentiments of Harry, Ron and Ginny, who barged into her flat one Saturday morning and pushed her off of her couch.

"You can't live like this anymore!" Ginny had pleaded. Hermione had then covered her face with a pillow and tried to suffocate herself—which, memo to self, does not work so well if the person trying to suffocate themselves is still trying to take the handle of vodka to the face.

Harry managed to convince her to try one of her childhood passions: healing. So, after much negotiating and screaming and bawling and incoherent rambling, Hermione cleaned herself up and followed Harry to St. Mungo's. And it really wasn't bad at all.

She'd always wanted to be a Healer at St. Mungo's, or at least, she'd always wanted to be a Healer up until the point when she decided she wanted to work at the Ministry. Merlin, it felt so incredibly different, making a hands-on difference by lopping off an arm here and an ear there and rebuilding people's insides, instead of making a semi-sort of-kind of-difference filling out paperwork in an office all day.

After a few weeks of working at the hospital, the stares and the whispers and the constant questions from strangers had faded into background static. It was actually just one person, one brazen little girl with a case of the Muggle measles, who broke any façade of bravery that she'd managed to create.

With her big blue eyes swimming with tears, the girl had clutched Hermione's wrist with both hands and asked, "Are you sad Miss Granger?"

And only because people had been barraging her with questions all day, after weeks of suffering the same interrogations day after day after day about the tremendous significance of her resignation and the consequential inexplicable silence of her opponent, did her face crumble at the thought that someone actually cared about how she was actually _feeling_.

"And just where did you get that idea?" she'd replied, biting her lip.

"You're wiping your nose with my sweater," the little girl had howled.

With those words, Hermione's last glimmer of hope of finding the meaning to life in a conversation with a booger-eating nose-picking eight year old had croaked it's final breath, and had died. She released the girl's sleeve and jabbed her with the syringe, then handed her off to an attending nurse and rushed off to the bathroom.

…Which was where she was now, her knees huddled beneath her chin, roosting on top of a porcelain bowl as if it were her own toilet—since she'd recently picked up the habit of hiding out in the bathroom after long nights of binge drinking her emotions into oblivion. Her life was in shambles and she had realized the other night that for the first time ever, she legitimately could not think of a way to make her situation any better. For once, Hermione Granger could not help herself. She hadn't even really gotten this job on her own. Of course, it was common knowledge that she was smart enough for this job, what with her finishing at the top of her class at Hogwarts and all, but she certainly hadn't had the medical resume for it coming in. Thank Merlin for Harry, working his boyish charm with the head of St. Mungo's, convincing him to let her take an accelerated training program and entrance exam. Otherwise, she would have barricaded herself away on some deserted island off of the coast of Africa. It had either been this job, this _final_ shot at rebuilding her life—or becoming that batty senile neighbor from kid movies that deflates basketballs and carves dirty words into the backs of Frisbees.

God, and the worst part wasn't even the fact that she had given up the opportunity of a lifetime (because in the end it really hadn't been the opportunity of _her_ lifetime), but the fact that during the entire debacle, through the press conferences and the interviews and the nights of sitting up alone in the darkness of her kitchen shoveling frozen yogurt into her mouth, he had not once broken his silence to the public. There had been the occasional commentary from his media spokesperson, but aside from that, absolutely nothing from his camp. Undoubtedly, this would have hurt his reputation in any other circumstance, but with the only other noteworthy candidate, her, Hermione Granger, out of the running—well, it was really Draco's race to win.

But in his defense, it had been his position to win from the beginning. She'd realized that she'd never even wanted it _that_ bad. She'd gotten so caught up in thinking about what she _could_ be doing with her life that she'd completely stopped caring about what she _should_ be doing. Sure, she _could_ be the new Minister of Magic, she _could_ climb fucking Mount Everest naked with her hands tied behind her back because frankly, she _could_ do anything she put her mind to because she was _the one_, _the only_ Hermione Granger. When she was younger, she used to kill bad guys in her sleep. Somehow in between her first few years at Hogwarts and her run at the Ministry, she'd gotten so obsessed with the could-bes that she'd stopped doing what she _should_ have done in the first place. She should have enjoyed what she had instead of pining for the next great thing for just once in her adult life. She'd been so stuck. Absolutely stuck on herself.

So while she'd been spouting accusations at Draco, left and right, calling him a selfish prat and rejecting every single earnest advance he made, she'd just been trying to protect herself. Of course, there's nothing wrong with a little self-preservation, but geez, she should've realized that she'd reached the quota for that a long time ago. It had taken truth serum (by the way, that's _legitimate magic_) to make her confess her true feelings, because that was how concerned she was about not getting hurt. For God's sakes, she'd punched him in the face with her purse because she had been too proud to share the lift with him!

She wrapped some toilet paper around her hand and dabbed at her cheeks as the epiphanies flooded over her, one after another. All she'd really wanted in her future was to help people, and now she was finally doing it, working at the St. Mungo's that she _should_ have been working at years ago. And God, it killed her every time to admit it, but she should never have let Draco walk out her door so many months before. She'd just been too scared to let him stay.

Hermione nearly teetered off the toilet as she heard the bathroom door creak open.

_Ohgodohgodohgodohgod please be the cleaning lady,_ she prayed, her fingers digging so tightly into her own arms that she swore they were sausages, what with how little she could feel them.

"Hermione?" a familiar voice chirped outside of her stall. Damnit. Hermione relented, no longer caring about what a mess she must look like, and unlocked the stall door.

"Step into my… office," she mumbled as Ginny nervously poked her head in.

"Gods Hermione—what happened?" Ginny asked, gaining more confidence as she saw the state Hermione was in.

"Oh, nothing, you know, routine check-up… normal Healer stuff. I just had to make sure the toilets weren't sick. You know how they get sometimes," she waved her hands animatedly, the wad of toilet paper still wrapped around one. Then realization dawned on her and she stumbled off the toilet, grabbing Ginny's shoulders in confusion, and a little for the sake of balance.

"Wait—how did you find me here? What are you doing at St. Mungo's? Are the boys all right?" she spewed out, shaking Ginny the entire time. All the lamentations of the past ten minutes flew out the window as images of Harry in a full body cast and Ron holding his decapitated head jumped into her head. Oh God, she'd gone and done it again—had she really been that out of it these past few weeks? Had another War started and she'd missed it because she'd been so absorbed in her little ice cream pity-parties at night?

"Jeez Hermione, calm down! So help me if you don't take a fucking breath and stop shaking me, I'm going to charm boils all over your ass and your face!" Ginny threatened, slapping Hermione's arms away and pushing her back down onto the toilet bowl. She pulled a tissue out from her purse and began rubbing away the tear tracks on Hermione's cheeks as she started explaining.

"Sorry—I didn't mean to be so harsh—but lately you've been acting completely mental. Not the bad mental, not some sadistic psycho killer mental, just… quiet mental. And everyone's noticed it—me, Harry, Ron, that little girl you just left with a needle in her arm like some sort of human pincushion…"

"In my defense, that little twat deserved it! And that needle had a _vaccination_ in it—not some sort of flesh-eating virus—" Hermione interrupted, her nostrils flared with some mixture of confusion and anger.

"Hermione! Shut up and listen! We were waiting for you to finish up—"

"We?" Hermione interrupted again. "You weren't the only person who saw me run off bawling to the bathroom like some socially inept grade school reject?!"

"Yes, WE you idiot! Me, Harry and Ron. Well, Ron was a little… apprehensive about coming… but shut up—the point is that we're here to talk to you about… ugh, I hate to say it, but about Draco."

Hermione immediately bolted up from the toilet and shoved Ginny out of the way as she rushed towards the bathroom door. There was no way in hell she was going to talk to _anybody_ about that… that… God, she couldn't even think of anything to call him anymore.

Why was she still running away from this?

She stopped short of pushing the door open, then turned to face Ginny whose arms were stretched out in some sort of… skeptical hug.

"Hugsies?" Ginny asked, her face crinkled half with enthusiasm and half with confusion. She wasn't exactly sure _why_ Hermione hadn't bolted out the door—not like it would have helped because Harry and Ron were nervously waiting outside with a panacea of ice cream and Get-Well balloons (Ron's idea)—but she was glad Hermione was still in the bathroom.

"I'm fine, Ginny," Hermione moaned, dragging her hand down her face as she walked towards the sink. "I feel very gross, very grimy, and tired, but I'm fine."

She turned on the faucet and as Ginny held her hair behind her shoulders, she splashed water into her face to try to reclaim some remnant of her dignity.

"If it makes you feel better, Draco already told us everything," Ginny said, "That's why we were waiting for you."

Hermione groaned and slumped back against the wall, letting her body fall to the ground like a corpse. God, she wished she could have been there to see Draco explain this one to Ron, to see Draco smash through a window or a door, or knowing Draco, even a mirror in his haste to escape Ron wielding mobile pieces of furniture like chainsaws in all his raging glory. Ginny slumped down beside her and sighed.

"Okay, don't get mad because it's really all Ron's fault that it's taken so long—but Draco's been looking for you for months," Ginny explained, much to Hermione's dismay. "In Ron's defense, we were all feeling a little less than friendly towards Draco because all we knew was that one minute you were running against each other, then the next minute you were going on secret dates with each other, and then the next minute you were sitting in the dark in your bathroom writing poetry in your bathtub…"

Oh please, poetry? God, Hermione wasn't some sort of angst-ridden twelve-year old who sits out the middle school dance to read Conrad to her imaginary friends. She wanted to correct Ginny, but it probably would have made things worse if she tried to explain that she'd been penning her will in case she went into diabetic shock from the choclacohol. And no, that didn't come pre-made.

"You might as well know the whole story… when Draco first tried to get in contact with Harry, Ron thought he'd be clever and he sent Draco an owl from Harry telling him to go to look for you at this nunnery in the States. He didn't think Draco'd actually do it, but he did, and then when he came back, Ron sent him another owl from Harry saying you'd gone to Asia to "find yourself" in the mountains. So Draco just kept running around the world, doing Ron's bidding, thinking it was Harry, thinking that you were in some mysterious place when the entire time you were at St. Mungo's. By the time we finally caught on to what Ron was doing, Draco was already in France looking you up in all the brothels he could find…"

And even though it wasn't very funny at all in its separate parts—the irony of the situation, the hardships Draco must have gone through, the pain she'd endured these past few months, the fact that Ron had told Draco she'd started working as some sort of scarlet woman in France—put together it was the funniest thing she had heard in a long long time. Hermione couldn't stop herself from bursting out in laughter and she even let her face roll around on the floor for a bit in all her delusion. Of course, she immediately regretted it and tried to scratch off her face with her hands, but right afterwards she stood up and was _really_ fine. No exaggerations this time.

Technically, she _would_ be fine once she got a hold of Draco.

"What did he say?" she asked, dusting off her sleeves.

"Well, when we finally met him, he didn't have to say much," Ginny replied, "Harry was already thoroughly impressed by the fact that Draco was able to go to a slutty European brothel without coming back with some sort of hooker-bride, and even though Ron doesn't like to admit it, I think he was a bit impressed too. Maybe a little guilty, but mostly impressed. I don't think he expected Draco to last beyond that first trip to America."

She then grabbed on tightly to Hermione's arms.

"He loves you, 'Mione. He even let us yell at him for a bit, thinking that he'd broken your heart. But all he said was that you told him no, and it makes a lot more sense to hear that a woman said no to Draco, than to hear that Draco said no to a woman. So tell me—what happened?"

Hermione sighed, and though she'd heard Draco say it so many times before, she couldn't help feeling light-headed and breathless thinking about Draco loving somebody other than himself. She returned Ginny's stare and shook off her grip.

"I don't know why the idiot didn't just pick up a newspaper and figure out where I'd gone," she jibed. "Ugh… but he's right. I told him I didn't want him. And at the time, that was technically partially sort of true."

"Hermione…" Ginny pressed, brow sternly furrowed.

"Okay, okay, jeez… all right, I admit it. I hate having to say it, but I admit it. I was wrong, Ginny, so completely horribly terribly utterly wrong."

And surprisingly, it didn't hurt that bad at all, saying that out loud. Feeling a boost of confidence, she pushed onwards.

"I suppose… my first mistake was thinking that I actually _wanted_ to be the Minister. And my second mistake—well… my second mistake was thinking that I wanted that more than I wanted… ugh… more than I wanted Draco. Merlin, all I've ever wanted to do was help people, and instead of helping people, and I mean really helping people—you know, the good stuff, like fixing their bones and their heads and their little fingers and toes—I've been all caught up in this stupid race for power. And from all the way up there, how could I have ever helped people as closely as I help them now? And I've just been so stubborn, just wanting to be better than everyone else and—God, all I cared about was my own pride and—"

"You should probably be telling this to him, not me, " Ginny interrupted, gesturing towards the door. Now, normally, this would have been the perfect moment in a film for the heroine to burst out the hospital doors and run into the arms of her lover. But Hermione still had some rationality left, as well as a line of patients to attend to, and most importantly, one entered and exited St. Mungo's through the window of Purge and Dowse Ltd., so there would be no epic flights of passion unless Hermione wanted to burst out of the window and into traffic. Instead, Hermione remained put in St. Mungo's. She hugged Ginny and together they walked towards the bathroom door.

"Thanks," she said, "I don't know what I would have done without you."

Ginny shrugged.

"What are you going to do now?"

Hermione smiled and held the door open for Ginny, catching a glimpse of a relieved-looking Harry and Ron holding a giant balloon bouquet.

"Surpriissseee!" Harry and Ron hesitantly whispered in unison.

Ginny turned to Hermione, ignoring Harry and Ron's complete failed attempt at instilling any sense of shock in Hermione.

"What am I going to do?" Hermione replied, "Owl Draco. But right now? I'm going to punch Ron straight in the face."

It was about time Hermione Granger stopped being afraid of getting hurt.

* * *

Author's Note- Contrary to popular belief, I am not a doctor, so I don't actually know if you can go into diabetic shock from eating chocolate and alcohol. Is the Fountain of Youth in the Malfoys' backyard? Is Draco part Crabbe? Does Hermione moonlight as a prostitute? All completely irrelevant because I made those all up. I don't know if any of you know math or anything, but this was first published five years ago, and now I've got like, 12 kids and a house to run and a career to tend to. JUST KIDDING. Last chapter up soon. For real this time.


	10. Here

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the book series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.

**This and Here**

**Chapter Ten**

Here

* * *

He should've known it was made-up. Not just the Iwannaleia Nunnery of Hawaii. All of it. Everything from the nunnery to the European brothels.

Well, in his defense, at the time he'd thought that the honorable Harry Pothead had been guiding him, not that delinquent psycho maniac Ron Weasley with his crazy red ratnest hair and inbred family. Thus, he hadn't taken the laughter of the natives very seriously when they'd read the name of the nunnery out loud. Maybe it was some sort of cultural anomaly where the nunnery just happened to be in a town conveniently named after a blatantly provocative uh… pick-up line. Ignoring their jibes, he'd scoured the coasts for days until he finally realized that there was no such place, only to receive another owl from "Harry", expressing his condolences for misleading him.

Hermione, he'd said, had been behind it all, trying to throw everyone off her tracks. But Harry had sources—purportedly "good ones" that in retrospect, Draco realized were probably Ron's left and right buttcheeks as he'd been pulling this information out his ass. She had gone to the mountains in Tibet to try to find herself. That sounded much more like the Hermione he knew, trying to find what she _really_ wanted and all that other psychobabble. She was really into that sort of thing, he'd figured out that much in the decade of knowing her.

So Draco packed up his things again and went scouring the mountains in Tibet, using any charm possible to pick up her trail. He envisioned himself climbing over the final crest of a mountain as the sun rose behind him just in time to see Hermione coming out of her hut to start herding her goats. Then, she would see his shadow laid out across the freshly settled snow and set her newfound yeti friends on him, and at least he would be mauled to death in her presence because all he really wanted was to be with her. Luckily, Draco did not have to die that way. He didn't find her in the mountains, after weeks of searching, and returned home to find yet another owl from "Harry".

Apparently, according to the letter, Draco had just missed her, as she'd returned to Europe to sell her body since she'd found her mind and no longer needed the rest. Upon reading it, Draco's initial reaction had been dread. Oh God, her body was the second best part about her! Of course, there were inklings of suspicions, but he didn't have time to investigate because he had brothels to inspect and Hermione's sanctity to defend. Months ago, he would have giggled at that thought, but this time around, he only sort of smirked. Merlin, he'd taken so many strides to change himself, it swelled his chest with pride.

Surrounded by women, ready and willing to throw their bodies at him, scantily clad with their boobs practically bouncing in his face, Draco realized that he was completely and utterly _bored_. Where was the substance to these women? The feistiness? Didn't any of them feel compelled to hold an intellectual conversation about government policies? God, or just some witty banter, really? He never thought the day would come that he would judge a woman based on her intelligence. It was sheer science-fiction.

But here he was, wringing Harry's letter in his hands and standing outside of a brothel with relief pouring from every orifice of his body. Thank God he didn't have to deal with those boobied zombies anymore because frankly, he'd had enough of women telling him in their husky, smoke laced voices: "I can be Hermione, baby. I can be anything you want me to be."

All he wanted was _his_ Hermione.

xXx

* * *

"I suppose I deserved that," Ron said calmly, slapping the cold steak to his face. Ginny groaned and rolled her eyes, helping the now temporarily disabled Draco into an armchair.

Self-admittedly, that had not been the smartest decision Draco'd ever made, but God, it had felt _soooo_ good to finally lay one on Ron Weasley. Of course, it was a short-lived sort of nirvana because as soon as the shock wore off, and Ron realized that it had been Draco, not some misguided hand of Ginny's or Harry's that had hit him, he'd tackled Draco to the ground where the two proceeded to slap at each other like drunk sorority girls. Under normal circumstances, Draco wouldn't have laid a hand on Ron, but as Ron had sent him on a wild goose chase around the world into the hands of slutty hookers and sherpas that Draco swore were cannibals, Draco felt he deserved some sort of payback.

With all things considered, the past was the past and Ginny had mixed something into his whiskey to help the collapsed ribs and body organs, so Draco was apt to change the subject.

"I'm sorry mate, just a natural reaction," Ron apologized with a shrug, letting his head roll back.

"Yes, well, apology accepted," Draco muttered in response through a swollen and cut lip, "Even though I really only wanted to talk to Potter, I suppose I'll have to entertain the rest of you."

He stood up and limped to the kitchen where Harry was helping himself to a cup of tea, and pulled out three more cups from the cabinet. Oh no problem, let Harry Pothead help himself to _his_ kitchen like he was his friend or something uncomfortably intimate like that.

"You got my letter?" Harry asked, stirring his tea, completely oblivious to the fact that Draco would have to incinerate his entire flat once they left because the little dolts were leaving their dead human cells all over everything. Sure, Draco desperately needed Harry's help, but that still didn't mean that some part of him didn't want to throttle the lot of them. His once pristine bachelor pad of epic love proportions was now a playground for these idiots.

Ugh, not idiots, people, _nice people._ He had to keep reminding himself that he'd have to turn over a new leaf if he ever wanted to get Hermione back.

"Yes, it would have helped more had I received it a few months before, but what's done is done," Draco replied, pouring the tea as best he could with a bruised knuckle or two.

"Oh come on, you prat, you loved it! Iwannaleia Nunnery! Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!" Ron yelled from the sitting room. There came a resounding "OOF" shortly thereafter which Draco took to be Ginny smacking Ron for his rudeness.

"Gods, sorry Draco, apparently Ron's head's been shaped like an ass since he was born. It's really quite unfortunate," Ginny called out, "Really doesn't help with the ladies."

Harry snorted and helped Draco carry the cups of tea out of the kitchen.

"So do you mind telling us exactly what happened?" Harry asked when they were all finally seated.

"Keep in mind that if you _hadn't_ actually been crazy enough to run halfway around the world to look for her, I might be pummeling you into the ground right now," Ron said smugly, that little bag of shi—ugh… Draco had to remind himself again--they're _nice_ people, they're _nice_ people.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat and set the cup of tea down on the coffee table. How was he going to explain this to them? He'd only invited Harry over, but he should've realized Harry would bring his little entourage with him. It was humiliating enough to have to relay his greatest weakness to his once mortal enemy. And now he'd have to reveal it to Ron Weasley, the thickest boob in the world who'd probably sell his secret to some tabloid in exchange for the money to buy some high-class prostitute. Draco sighed and rubbed his hand over his now scruffy chin.

"I need to find Hermione," he finally said, his shoulders sagging halfway to the ground. Whew, that wasn't too bad. Now he'd just have to tell them the part of the story that actually held meaning.

"She's been working at St. Mungo's for the past week or so," Ginny informed him. Well, duh, Draco wasn't stupid. It was sort of under his job criteria that he picked up a newspaper every now and then.

"I realize that now, but for the first few months, I couldn't get a hold of her…" Draco tried to explain.

"Yeah, well, she didn't exactly want you to find her—" Ginny replied.

Ron leaned forward, steak still pressed to his face, his finger pointed accusingly at Draco.

"Yeah… YEAH! I can't believe I forgot that tantrum she threw, trying to make her flat entirely impervious to Malfoy DNA—WHAT'D YOU DO TO HER YOU LITTLE FERRET?" Ron suddenly exploded, throwing the steak to the ground.

Oh Gods! Draco still had a list of things he wanted to do before he died, sentimental things like drawing turkey-hand pictures with his children…

"You're right Ron! Hermione was a complete mess after she left the Ministry—oh Merlin—are YOU the reason she left? Should we even be helping you? You're probably just going to hurt her again…"

Draco tuned out Ginny's ranting until it faded into a high pitched squeak at the back of his head. He could see Ron's face turning beet red and Ginny's hair getting all in her mouth, but there Harry sat, as calmly and as honorably as ever, sipping his tea and intensely eyeing the couch pattern. It was somewhat consoling to hear that Hermione hadn't had the easiest of times getting over him because at least that proved she cared. But he already knew that. He'd known it since the moment she unwillingly ingested truth serum and spilled her feelings out like word vomit. Oh love, what a wondrous thing.

"…and she just sat in her bathroom all day—isn't that right Harry?" Ginny said.

"Harry?"

All three heads turned to look at Harry, his brow still fiercely knit in concentration, his hand mechanically moving the cup up to his mouth and back to the saucer. He finally looked up, but only at Draco, all business.

"I know that you and Hermione have had a long history together, and frankly I don't really want to hear every little detail about your relationship," Harry began, weaving his fingers together in his lap, "That's really none of my business… and also, I don't really want to have that image in my head… so I'm just going to ask you some questions, and if you can answer me honestly, then I'll do everything I can to help you."

Ginny's jaw dropped while Ron sat there babbling like an idiot, trying to understand what Harry had seen in Draco that he had not.

"All right, fine," Draco agreed with a nod of his head.

"Did you love her?"

"I _do_ love her."

Harry chewed on this for a while as Ron sat in the corner gnawing on one of Draco's couch cushions.

"Then why has she been avoiding you?"

"Ha! I think the more important question is: when did she ever stop avoiding me?" Draco joked. But then his face grew very serious, and with his arms draped over his knees and his body slouched nearly to the floor, he turned to Harry, and really, only to Harry because he'd suffered enough humiliation running around the world on behalf of Ron.

"I love her, Potter, and you and your friends might not believe this when I say it, but I would never, ever do anything to hurt her. The last time we saw each other, I proposed to her..."

Upon hearing these words, Ron nearly went into cardiac arrest, but thankfully Ginny was there to slap some sense back into him. Ignoring Ron's reaction, Draco pushed onwards.

"And she said no."

He held his breath as he concluded, bracing himself for the flood of humiliation. Any second now, Ron would burst out in laughter. Any. Second. Now.

But the room was silent, and it hardly seemed right for Draco to crack some sort of farty joke to break the tension because this was not at all what he'd thought would happen. Where was Ron's brutal heckling and Ginny's high-pitched giggling? And why was Harry still staring at him through those clunky glasses, his face all… _serious._

Good god, they really were _nice._ Draco's surprise was evident and when Ginny laid a reassuring hand across his own, he instinctively pulled his hand away.

"Sorry, again," she said, "I don't think any of us thought that you liked her _that_ much."

In all honesty, he hadn't even thought too much about asking Hermione to marry him. At some point in their strange handicapped relationship, he'd come to accept that fact that there was nobody else but Hermione. He was going to put his babies in her, and live in a kooky house with her and have little animals running around with her and best of all, he'd get to draw turkey-hand animals with her. Turkey-hand animals!

And this wasn't about that stupid "request" his mother had made nearly a year ago. This wasn't about that at all. Marrying a mudblood for good media coverage? Worst. Idea. Ever. Good god, his mother was about a billion years old any ways. The best advice she'd ever given him in his entire life had been the few words she'd imparted on him the night she'd nearly killed him.

"If you know where she is, why do you need our help?" Ron asked, finally having cooled down enough to properly enunciate his words.

"Do you want to know why I've always been so jealous of you?" Draco replied with a sigh.

"I believe I was the one asking questions—"

Ginny elbowed Ron.

"Just shut up and answer him," she hissed.

Ron rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"No, I don't know why you've always been so jealous of me," he tediously responded.

But of course, Harry already knew the answer and before Draco could reply, he cut in.

"Hermione trusts us," Harry answered.

"And she's scared of making herself vulnerable to me," Draco continued with a shrug. Ron, however, still wasn't convinced.

"Why wouldn't she want to trust you?" he prodded, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Ginny threw her hands up in frustration.

"You idiot!" she chided, "He just told you. It's _Hermione_ we're talking about. She's scared of getting hurt, you boob!"

Then in a complete turnaround, she lunged for Draco's hand, clutched it tightly in her own, and smiled as reassuringly as she knew how.

"But don't worry, Draco, that's the problem most of us women have. Except Hermione is a slightly extreme case. So good luck with that."

Harry finally interrupted, gesturing for everyone to calm down.

"We'll go talk to her," he said, looking at Draco, "But it's entirely up to her whether or not she meets with you again. We're not going to make her do anything she doesn't want to, and we can't guarantee that this is going to be fast either. It's going to take time, Malfoy."

Draco nodded, finally glad that this conversation was coming to an end. He'd seen Ron's eyes roll to the back of his head about fifty times in the past twenty minutes and he wasn't exactly eager to see Ron do it again. He valued his life too much.

"Fair enough," he replied.

He'd been waiting years for Hermione. He could wait a few more weeks.

xXx

* * *

Ahhh, so she was finally _here_.

She was right in the middle of the end, ironically enough—stuck in that little sliver of time between the end and the beginning or between the end and the… end.

How did she even get here? What happened to the time between leaving St. Mungo's and getting to his flat? At some point, she'd done something to her face, to her hair, and to her clothes, and yet she couldn't really remember any of it.

As she stood there, completely immobile with her eyes closed and her brow knit in concentration, she wondered what would happen next. What if he'd moved on? What if he was tired of chasing her around all the time? Maybe he was entertaining some skanky intern in his flat at this very moment… sashaying around, giving her a nice strip tease. Oh Merlin, what was she doing here?

She let her hand drop to her side. She hadn't thought this through very well—she didn't even know what she'd say if he told her he still loved her. Oh—gee, thanks?

Perhaps she'd come back later. Yes, she'd come back later—

"Don't go."

Ohgod.

The door was open. Draco was standing in front of her. No slutty intern. Just Draco. Disheveled, scruffy and very surprised Draco.

He was wearing a black shirt and dark jeans so that in the dimness of his flat, she could hardly see the outline of his body. Sensing her confusion, he flicked on a light and immediately regretted it because never before had Hermione seen his apartment in such a state of… disrepair.

But it was nothing compared to hers.

"Uh…" was all she could get out. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

All she had to do was keep her eyes averted. Yes, that's right, just stare at the room behind him. Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn't sure whether she was about to cry or pass out. As long as she didn't--

"Hermione?"

She shouldn't have looked at him. Oh god, now her heart was pounding in her ears and her throat was clenching up and all she could think about was either running away down the hall or running into his arms. What happened to her perfectly frozen sliver of time? She wasn't ready for this. Or maybe she was. No. She wasn't. Yes. She was. No. Yes. No.

"Yes?"

"Do you want to come in?" he said as nicely as possible.

She nodded, then walked into his apartment as he stood aside to let her in. She couldn't help brushing against him, her arm instinctively flinching as it bumped against his chest. He looked startled, but retreated to the kitchen, where she was able to get a better look at him without feeling too… creepy.

His facial hair had grown out a little—but knowing Draco, that had probably taken him months. Even with the fitted clothes, he still looked a little… messy. Still as slender as ever. A little darker than she remembered—probably from his travels… and his face, with its angular jaw and nose appeared more worn than usual.

But in his defense, he probably hadn't been expecting company. And it wasn't as though she found him any less attractive. Ugh, why was she already thinking about that?

"Do you want anything to drink?" he asked politely.

"Water's fine," she replied. He poured two glasses of water, then walked over to the sitting room where he casually threw off the strewn blankets and clothes to make room for them. On separate couches. She warily took her glass of water from him and sat down.

"So… how have you been?" he asked.

Taking a slow sip of water, she glanced at him over the rim, her heart racing again, and shrugged.

"I've been fine," she lied, "What about you?"

"Same," he replied, reciprocating her lie with another. This conversation was killing her.

She set her drink down on the only clear space on the stand beside her and very carefully crossed her legs. But his eyes stayed on her face. Slightly unnerving.

Agh. And then silence.

"Ahh… I suppose we should get to the point," he cleared his throat, "Why are you here Hermione?"

Well, he always did like to be direct. And god, she couldn't have taken any more of that useless banter any ways. She folded her hands over her knees and mustered up the courage to look him directly in the eyes.

"To see you," she answered. "To see how you're doing."

"Ahaaa… I think you know how I'm doing," he said, gesturing towards the clothes and blankets and pieces of trash covering the floor, "You didn't exactly make contacting you very easy."

Hermione scoffed and turned away from him.

"Well, maybe I didn't want to be contacted," she replied.

"Clearly," he sneered.

Oh Merlin, this wasn't the direction she'd hoped this conversation would take.

"Your friends were very helpful too—you know, after that entire global scavenger hunt was over," he continued.

"Oh please—that was just Ron, and it's not like you've always treated Ron with the utmost respect before," she retorted, "You could have just asked somebody at the Ministry to contact me."

He laughed, harshly, and stood up to put their glasses away.

"What?" she said, stalking after him. This conversation had suddenly gotten much, much worse. But it was so familiar. They were back to their old sparring grounds. She couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline.

Draco walked into the kitchen and didn't even turn around to acknowledge that she'd followed him in.

"Do you remember—you remember how you always used to complain about how bad it would look to take our relationship public?" he suddenly asked, dropping the glasses into the sink. He turned around to face her.

"What about it?" she pressed.

He was shaking his head and rubbing his temples at the same time, clearly frustrated.

"We were the two top candidates for the Minister position, for Christ's sake," he brusquely said, "It's not exactly easy to go sneaking around. That one evening at the Shrieking Shack—we were tailed by at least two—three photographers."

"Draco—what are you talking about?" Hermione asked slowly.

He was standing absolutely rigid, still thumbing his temples, still refusing to look at her.

"You were so adamant about keeping this a secret. Just so adamant."

She didn't understand how this was a response to her jibe about asking the Ministry for help, so she tried to look stern and resolute, and said nothing.

"I paid off a few photographers here and there so you wouldn't have to wake up in the morning and see pictures of the two of us together—being anything _but_ professional on the front page," he said angrily, "All because I thought that that would make… that would make what we had okay."

Hermione could hear her teeth rubbing against each other as she clenched her mouth shut in uncertainty. This wasn't what she'd expected _at all_.

"…So I knew that as soon as I went to _anybody_ at the Ministry to try to find a way to contact you, it would just give fuel to the fire, and God, the last thing I wanted to do was to hurt you," he concluded, finally turning his head to look at her.

"Is that why you didn't talk to the press after my resignation?" she asked.

"No—that was because I physically couldn't, as I was either in Hawaii, Tibet or France," he scoffed.

He was clearly still angry. And she had clearly not grasped the point of that diatribe.

"Why are you here, Hermione?"

She raised a brow, put her hands on her hips.

"I already told you why," she replied.

"No, you didn't."

Draco eyed her, half in anger, half in desperation.

"I told you—I came to see how you were doing."

"That's it? That's all you came over here for?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

That's it? Of course that was it. What did he want from her? He was so hot and cold, she just didn't understand it. She was so used to him being shrewd and calculating and manipulative that it always came naturally to be on the defensive. One minute he was holding a normal conversation with her, and the next, he was telling her about these _things_ that he'd done for her that she wasn't even sure she was ready to hear about. And God, that was such a heartbreakingly considerate thing that he'd done that she'd almost started crying just hearing about it. But still, she was confused. She had finally come here, on her own, to talk to him. To just _be_ with him. What did he want? She was here, wasn't she? She was standing in front of him, talking to him, wasn't she? She'd given up her job at the Ministry for him, hadn't she?! For Merlin's sake--

"What do you want from me?" she finally cried, dropping her hands to her sides in balled up fists.

His expression grew very blank, then annoyed, then frustrated. One hand dropped to his side, the other began wildly raking through his hair.

"What do I want from you? What do I want from you?!" he yelled back, "Hermione? Are you kidding me?"

"No I am not kidding you! Draco, I'm here, aren't I? I'm here, damnit!"

"What?! What does that even mean? God—Hermione, do you know why I started working at the Ministry in the first place?"

She didn't respond. Where was this all going?

"Hermione—ever since Hogwarts—ever since that train ride when you said it couldn't work out—I have spent my life trying to figure out what I did wrong," he said, painfully precise, painfully emotional, "Do you even remember how this all started? Do you remember what we went through to get there? Hermione—you didn't have to say no. You knew it then and you know it now. You never had to say no."

She pulled away when he stepped forward, feeling very claustrophobic and all of a sudden very vulnerable. She could feel that nauseating constricting feeling at the back of her throat, getting ready to trigger the tears. Hermione, hold it together! Geez, she was stronger than this.

"God Hermione!" Draco went on, clearly stung by her decision to pull away, "You say you're here, but what does that even mean? You're not here at all! Working at the Ministry was the closest I could ever get to you—and even then, you STILL managed to run away. But Hermione, you know what—I don't even care anymore. I don't care if you came here just to "see how I'm doing". I don't care that you probably still don't think you know what you want."

He tentatively took a step forward, and Hermione stood her ground. It felt so _strange _to be told how she felt, especially because Draco was telling her without the slightest tinge of sarcasm and without the slightest hint of malice. For once, she felt like he was speaking from his heart, and not from… other places.

"I know that this is _real love_," he said, "None of that grade school shit. This is the love that makes me feel like dying knowing that you're not happy. This is the love that makes me want to grow old with you. This is the love that makes me want to _be with you._ But if you want to run away again—then fine. You're not the only one who's getting hurt. You've seen me, you know how I'm doing, and if you want, you can go."

Hermione hadn't taken a breath in a while. Her face was so tightly drawn back that she swore if the slightest muscle twitched, she would start bawling. This was so much more than she'd ever expected from Draco. This was so much more than she thought it had been. She had been so concerned about the subjective details—concerned that he wasn't _right_ for her because he didn't know her favorite book or her favorite food—when frankly he had known what really mattered from the beginning. He had always known who she was, what she was afraid of, how to protect her—and that was what she should have been looking for. Her favorite things were trivial compared to knowing her hopes and her fears. God, why had it taken them so long to finally get to this point? The term _real love_ had never before sprung up in her vocabulary, but apparently this was what it was. It was why Draco bought up tabloid pictures so she could sleep at night. It was why they'd been stupid enough to go to the Shrieking Shack together, knowing they probably wouldn't get through the night unobserved. For fuck's sake, it was why she was here! Oh GOD—that's why she was here!

And now she could say she knew what it felt like. It hurt. It hurt to be loved. It hurt to know that she was hurting the one person who would never want to hurt her at all. Oh god, mouthful.

"I love you!" she burst out.

They both stood there in awkward silence, not sure if either of them had heard that correctly. Draco's face grew very still.

"Draco—I said—"

Before she could finish, his hands were tangled in her hair and his nose and forehead were pressed against hers in fierce determination. He grazed her cheek with his thumb, kept his lips a hair's away from her own, his face still so stern and broken.

"Please, say that again," he asked.

Ah… there it was again, the incredible happy feeling gushing through her body--

"…I love you, Draco," she said again.

And then their lips were crushed against each other. And god, those lips, lips that were kneading hers so mercilessly, and all she could do was achingly knead back, their mouths parted, his tongue running along the edge of hers. He gently pushed her towards the wall, ran his hand down her neck, down her collarbone, and in a surprising display of gentlemanly aptitude, bypassed her breasts and skirted straight down her side. She ran her hands down the back of his neck as she arched her body into his, taking _incredible_ care to acknowledge the bulge of his jeans, and the air that came out in a slow hiss by her ear was the sort of gratifying release she was looking for.

Even without the petting and the groping and the gasping and the panting, he probably could have taken her breath away just by looking at her--

She had never wanted to be with someone so much in her entire life.

And she certainly wasn't going to be patient now that they'd finally gotten _here_.

She pressed her hand against the bulge, dragged her nails along the outline of his penis, nipped at his lips and ran her fingers along his taut abdomen following the hem of his pants. He unbuckled his belt without ever pulling his lips away from her, then before he undid the zipper, reached for the hem of her dress and lifted it in one persistent tug over her obliging arms. She promptly pulled his pants down by the belt loops as he dragged kisses along her neck and shoulder, then wrapped her leg around him to press him against her.

She cried out when his fingers drifted beneath the waistband of her panties, gently rubbing, teasing, making her want to tip her head back and moan his name. But as soon as she slipped one hand beneath the waistband of his briefs, momentarily encircling his shaft, he let out a cry of surprise and pulled away from her.

"What—Draco," Hermione sputtered, panicking as she envisioned some horrible disfigurement of his dick. Oh God, or maybe she'd moved too fast—no that was ridiculous, this was Draco Malfoy. She suddenly felt very naked.

He sensed her confusion, but said nothing and swept her up into his arms, very quickly, but very carefully, navigating his way around the wreckage of his apartment to his bedroom. He gently kicked the door open, lay her down on his blue cotton sheets.

Merlin, his room was so ridiculously… normal. There was a large decorative clock hanging on one wall, a music system, a floor lamp here and there, and a table with books piled all over it. She saw his broomstick propped up beside the French doors to the balcony, and even some picture frames hung haphazardly on the wall. Of course, the people in them were all now gone, having seen a half naked Draco waltz in with a half naked Hermione, but she recognized the background of one of them and would have bet her left foot that it was one of the pictures Draco had bought off of the photographers.

While Hermione was examining his room, Draco had as deftly as possible grabbed his wand from the nightstand and quickly muttered a contraception incantation, not even turning to look where his wand landed as he tossed it aside to kneel next to Hermione. She raised herself on her knees as soon as he settled down in front of her, ran her hands all over his chest and his neck and his face, combed through his hair, just trying to take him in.

"Hermione," he said, looking at her, honestly _looking_ at her until she felt the blush rising up in her cheeks and her heart bursting out of her ribcage. How did he do that? How did he just look at her and make her feel light-headed? It was like some incredible and absolutely legal hallucinogenic. God, and she just wanted more of it. She wanted so much more of it. He wasn't even touching her anymore for Merlin's sake, and she was already wet for him.

She reached behind her back, unfastened her bra, and after shimmying it down her arms, tossed it to the ground beside the bed. And in his greatest surprise move yet, Draco never broke eye contact with Hermione. Yes, this was, in some ironic and comical and awesome way, _real love._

As she slipped her panties over her butt and down her legs, he simultaneously pulled his briefs off, and both fell to the bedroom floor. She wrapped her hand around the wet head of his penis, stroked her hand up and down the shaft as his fingers moved in and out and around her opening. Her legs were quaking, she wanted him so bad. Oh fuck it, enough foreplay.

She wrapped her hands around his neck and with a very flexible ease, pulled him down on top of her.

"Draco, wait—" she cried when the tip of his penis brushed against her.

He immediately tensed, but she smiled and cupped his face in her hands.

"Draco—I love you."

He smiled so brightly that she was fairly certain she experienced a heart palpitation. Then he buried his head into her neck, making her heart race even harder with the way she could feel him smiling against her skin. His heart was pounding just as loudly as hers. She could hear it beating against her own chest that was thumpthumping wildly out of control.

"I love you, Hermione. I love you," he whispered into her ear, before slowly and carefully entering her.

And she had never felt so incredibly brilliant and so incredibly perfect as she did right now.

Sensing that Draco was taking an achingly slow caution with his strokes, she wrapped one leg around him and without warning, drove him all the way into her, causing her to cry out in surprise and him to yell out half in concern half in pleasure. He immediately pulled out, only to have her leg clench around his butt and thrust into her again. She smiled at him, kissed him lightly, ran her tongue over his bottom lip. She was fine. She was more than fine, actually.

She unhooked her leg from around him and lifted it, lifted it until her knee was caught above his shoulder. He let out a slow moan as he continued thrusting, and realizing that he was close, she walked her fingers down towards her opening to give herself a helping hand.

But apparently Draco had been thinking the same thing because his fingers were already there, and as they explored her, pinched her, stroked her, she rumpled the sheets in her hands, gasping until she could no longer look at him because her head had tipped back so far.

And she let out a gasp, her entire body clenching up, her walls squeezing him until he let out a cry of pleasure and collapsed beside her, his hand draped protectively across her body.

All she could think was _real love real love real love._

He turned his head to look at her, the rest of his body lying face down into the bed, his smile so bright she found herself trying to suppress laughter.

"I love you, Hermione Granger," he said, placing a kiss on her shoulder, then on the side of her neck. Then he was propped up over her again, planting kisses on her cheeks and forehead.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around him.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy," she replied.

Then he was smiling into her skin again and all she could do was laugh, feeling perfectly content. _Real love real love real love._

xXx

* * *

She should have known something was amiss after he'd gotten up at the crack of dawn to go to the bathroom—oh, uh… the bedroom bathroom's too dark in the morning—and had clearly just gone to the kitchen instead. She hadn't thought much of it, still too dazed, still too wired on love to really consider what he could have been doing.

But with the newest edition of the Daily Prophet in her hands, his face on the front page, hands waving jubilantly in parting, she now knew what he'd been doing.

"Draco!" she cried, climbing back onto his bed to straddle him as she waved the newspaper frantically about, "You dropped out?"

She could tell he was faking it, his eyes were squeezed so tightly she could see the wrinkles forming at the corners. And the smile, the big goofy smile gave it away too.

"Why?" she asked.

He opened one eye, then the other, and took the newspaper out of her hand to read the article.

"Hm… not exactly my best side, but I'll take it," he commented, examining his face from its multiple, moving angles.

She groaned and tried to grab the newspaper from him, but he quickly crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the mess of clothes on his bedroom floor. He rested his hands on her legs, began rubbing them affectionately.

"Why what?" he smirked.

"Oh! You know what I'm talking about," she huffed, retying the sash of the oversized robe that she'd found in his bathroom.

"Why'd I submit my resignation, you mean?"

She nodded, folded her arms across her chest.

"I thought it was fairly obvious," he said, tugging at the sash, "Better question—why did _you_ resign from the Ministry?"

"I thought that was fairly obvious," she mimicked, rolling her eyes and dropping her voice a few decibels. She smacked his chest.

"I'm serious—why did you drop out?" she asked again.

He smiled and shook his head.

"If you tell me, I'll tell you."

Hermione groaned, but as much as she hated to admit it, she loved the way they sparred. It was never boring. It was just the way they fit together.

"Fine!" she submitted, throwing up her hands in surrender.

It took her a few minutes to gather her thoughts together, and to tear at the loose thread in the bath robe sash until Draco had to put his hands on her own to calm her down.

"You were right," she finally said, as quickly as she could, "I just… it wasn't what I really wanted to be doing. And I wasn't exactly being honest with myself… _and_ I was scared of doing something _other_ than what people expected of me… so I went back to Healing, which was what I really wanted to do in the first place."

And that was the end of that. She would have been wringing her hands together the entire time if Draco hadn't been holding them, doing that little de-stressing thumb-rubbing trick he always does. He was smiling when she finished talking.

"Okay okay okay, you've heard my story—what's yours?" she said, poking him in the chest with her finger.

"What? I already told you," he shrugged.

MERLIN always with the stupid riddles! She collapsed alongside him, throwing her arm across her face in defeat. Why couldn't he just give her a straight answer?

He pulled her arm off her face, wrapped his own around her and with the other arm propping him up, began twisting and untwisting her hair around his finger.

"Do you remember when I told you that _you_ were the reason I was working at the Ministry?" he asked.

Oh right—she'd forgotten about that bit. She tried to hide her smile, but she completely failed. God, he could make her so giddy without even doing that much.

"But what if some other girl you like starts working at the Ministry?" she joked.

"Oh…I kind of figured that _this_," he gestured back and forth between the two of them, "That _this _was sort of… a forever kind of deal."

Then she was burying her face into his chest, smiling all over his skin

"Isn't it?" he asked with the most endearing look of confusion on his face when she finally pulled away.

Before she could burst out laughing, she managed to yell--

"I'm here, aren't I?"

And then he was kissing her madly, making her heart race and her breath stop.

She was here. She would always be here for him.

Fin

* * *

Author's Note-

AHHHHAAAAAAAaaa, this is finally done. And it took _way_ too long. How does one conclude something as time-consuming as this? Uh.. well, this story was first published on five years ago. Not only do I feel old, but this story may or may not hold any relevance to its original plot line of which was initially concocted half a decade prior. Hopefully I'm still funny. If not, I'm totally cool with that too. I might rewrite some of the first couple of chapters because, as they were written back at the dawn of the century, they might need a few stylistic upgrades. Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed the story as much as I did? This was awesome. And some of you may be wondering why there are a lot of loose ends left like: Who is the new Minister of Magic then? Uhh, Neville Longbottom? Just shut up and enjoy it.


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